All The Young Dudes
by Bassomatic
Summary: When the boys start their senior year of high school, they think their problems are almost over. So, naturally, it's the most messed-up year of their lives. Eventual STYLE, CANDY, and STENDY, not necessarily at the same time or in that order.
1. August

**Disclaimer:** Ahhh none of them belong to me. They belong to Trey Parker and Matt Stone, who, sadly, don't belong to me either. But if they did it would be SUPER FUN TIMES

* * *

**ALL THE YOUNG DUDES**

AUGUST

* * *

_Can we climb this mountain_

_I don't know_

_Higher now than ever before_

_I know we can make it if we take it slow_

_Let's take it easy_

_Easy now watch it go_

_We're burning down the highway skyline_

_On the back of a hurricane that started turning_

_When you were young_

_When you were young_

* * *

August 12

* * *

"AAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHH!"

"Dude, shut up!"

"I'll shut up when you stop trying to kill me!" Kyle shouted. He clutched the dashboard in sheer terror as Stan sped down the street, nearly missed the entrance to the parking lot, and managed to get inside only by making a sharp hundred and twenty degree turn. "Holy shit, dude!"

"Hey, I didn't have to give you a ride, you know," Stan shouted irritably over the sound of his car skidding backwards through the lot. He wrenched the wheel sideways, just barely missing a minivan.

"I'd be safer walking blindfolded into incoming traffic!" Kyle squeaked from the passenger's seat. He could swear he heard the rush of speeding death as Stan made another wide and impossibly angled turn into the second row of cars. "Just park!"

"Hang on," Stan shouted back, making another sharp turn, "I'm looking for a spot!" Kyle didn't say anything about the five empty stalls they had just passed. Instead he put his head in his hands and prayed that, when they inevitably crashed and died, it would be relatively painless.

Stan paid no attention to his friend cowering beside him, but continued to scan the parking lot. He was a man on a mission.

His car, a dark red gremlin, had been a present from his dad. Yesterday night he had been busy playing Halo in the last few hours of free time he had before the school year started, when his father had suddenly wrapped a blindfold around his head, effectively blinding him.

"Dad, what the hell are you doing? I'm playing Halo!" Stan complained.

"Stan, I have something important to show you," Randy marsh said, from what Stan decided must be somewhere near the door.

"Oh Jesus what now?" Stan muttered, blindly standing and stumbling toward his father's voice. "Dad, where are you?"

"Follow the sound of my voice Stan!" Randy had said, "And follow the sound... of freedom..." Stan could hear a faint jingling. He sighed, and walked tentatively towards the sound. From what he could tell, he was going through the open door, and outside into the driveway. "Where am I going?" He asked.

"Just keep walking!" Came his father's voice, accompanied by the jingling sound again. Stan kept walking until he walked right into what felt like their car.

"What the hell?" He had muttered, pulling off the blindfold. It wasn't the family car that he had walked into. It was however, a car. The ugliest car Stan had ever seen. "It's... a car," he said, trying to sound enthused. His dad tossed him the keys.

"And it's all yours!" Randy had put an arm around his son's shoulders. "Your first car, just in time for your last year of high school. I mean," he paused and chuckled, "You have to have something to drive girls around in, right?"

Well at the moment Stan had no girls whatsoever in the car. Kyle was screaming like a girl, but it wasn't quite the same thing. He spun and skidded into the last row of cars and spotted what he had been looking for:

A cute little yellow hybrid, brand new and freshly washed for the first day of school.

And there was an empty space next to it.

Stan swerved, sped up, and more or less careened into the parking space, getting a bit too close to the other car as he did so. He winced as the cars scraped against each other, and immediately put the car in reverse. He pulled out of the space, straightened the car out, and parked. Kyle looked up.

"Where am I?"

"Very funny, dude. We're parked." He grabbed his backpack and got out of the car. Kyle sat still for a while, just breathing in and out, clutching his bag and thanking the powers that be that he was still alive, and not dead in a ditch somewhere. Finally he got out of the car, just in time to see Stan practically have a heart attack.

"Aw-AWWW!" Kyle peered around his friend and saw what the exclamation was over; a scratch right along the side of Wendy Testaburger's brand-new car.

"You are so dead." Kyle observed, putting his backpack on. "She's going to kill you. Over and over again." Stan stopped staring at the scratch, went a horrible shade of white-gray, and turned and vomited in the bushes. Somewhere in the distance, a school bell rang. Stan stood up, wiping his mouth off.

"I have to move my car. If she sees it she'll know it was me!"

"You think? I mean, the license plate only reads 'STNMRSH'." Kyle said dryly. "Come on, we've got to go to class."

"No way, not until -" Kyle grabbed Stan's arm and bodily dragged his friend away from the cars.

"I'm not going to let you be tardy on your first day." He said firmly, "now come on; you have chemistry first and I have math."

"Screw chemistry." Stan said, but it was futile; Kyle had already led him across the parking lot and towards the school. Besides, Stan didn't really want to be tardy on his first day either.

* * *

Stan walked into his chemistry class - still noisily chewing the right breath mints he had stuffed into his mouth after the vomit incident - scant seconds before the late bell rang.

"Name?" Stan looked up at his chemistry teacher, a man in his late forties who was holding a clipboard. The man was wearing a polo shirt, dress pants and, oddly, a pair of Birkenstocks with socks. Stan did a slight double take at the odd shoes before looking back at the teacher.

"Stan Marsh." He watched as the teacher slid his finger down the row of names.

"Ah yes, you're sitting over in the back left corner, next to Wendy. She's the one in the pink beret."

... _no_ ...

Wendy spotted him from across the room and waved him over. Under different circumstances - ones in which he had not just scratched her treasured car - he would be ecstatic at this. However, today he was forced to wonder what he had done that was so terrible that God felt the need to punish him like this. He took a deep breath and went over to the table.

"Hi Wendy," He said nervously, sitting down next to her at the two-person lab table and trying not to look guilty.

"Hi Stan!" She said brightly, moving her bag aside to make room for him. "How was your summer? Did you go anywhere fun?" Stan got a pencil out of his bag and began toying with it, purely to have something to do with his hands.

"Not really, I just stayed in town and hung out with my friends a lot. How was your summer?" Wendy shrugged, winding a strand of her long black hair around her finger as she did so.

"Kind of boring. I mean, I went to California with Bebe and her family for a few days, but that was about it." She smiled suddenly, "But I can tell this year is going to be fun. I'm so glad we're lab partners!" She touched his arm lightly as she said this, and Stan nodded, fighting down a new wave of nausea. She was happy to be sitting next to him. This was going amazingly well.

Or at least, it would be going well until Wendy found out that he'd scratched her car. Stan resisted the urge to vomit again, and was relieved when their teacher, Mr Simpson, began talking.

* * *

When Kyle walked into his first period advanced Calculus class, he was greeted by a wave of unspoken animosity. He was the last student to arrive, it seemed, and when he walked through the doorway, everyone turned to look at him, and immediately their curious glances turned to looks of indifference or disgust.

His first thought was that he had accidentally wandered into the underground city of the mole people. His classmates looked as though they hadn't seen the sun in years. Or, perhaps, ever. A few of them sported thick glasses, and Kyle counted seven pocket protectors.

This classroom was filled with nerds. Nerds who apparently did not take kindly to normal kids invading their sacred space.

He sat down in the back of the classroom and tried to look as unobtrusive as possible while wondering how on earth he had gotten stuck in a class with every stereotypical geek in school. This was totally going to suck balls.

* * *

Eric Cartman was, surprisingly, one of the first people to arrive in government class that morning. He had gotten a lot taller through the years; he had at least an inch on Kenny and Stan and was the same height as Kyle. This was emphasized by the fact that he wasn't obese like he had been in his childhood. To the surprise of everyone, once he had hit puberty he shot up in height and lost his extra body fat. He had a stocky build, however, and it was evident to all that, as he had been telling them for years, he was actually just big boned.

One thing about him, however, would never change: he was still a manipulative bastard.

He walked in and noted that the desks were, irritatingly, arranged into pairs. He started to walk to the back of the class, but was stopped by the teacher; a woman who looked to be in her late twenties holding a seating chart.

"Good Morning!" She said brightly, "I'm Miss Murray. What's your name?"

"Eric Cartman." He told her. There was no point in mouthing off first thing. There would be plenty of time for that later.

"All right, well your seat is right up there," She said, pointing to a desk in the very front of the classroom. Cartman frowned; he hated the front of classes. Everyone knew it was easier to brainwash students who sat in the very front.

"Aw god dammit." He muttered to himself.

"What was that?" his teacher asked pleasantly. He considered repeating himself, louder. Perhaps at a soft yell. Instead he readjusted his backpack on his shoulder and headed towards the front.

"Nothing, nothing." He said, sitting down. Students filed into the classroom at a steady pace and were given their seating assignments. To Eric's disgust, the quarterback of the football team joined him. He was pale, blond, and even bigger than Cartman who, though no longer what Kyle gently deemed a 'fat fuck', was still formidable. He was wearing his letterman jacket, even though it was august, and had either gelled his hair this morning or was just a greasy, greasy man. Cartman felt the instant urge to light him and everything he loved on fire.

"Now that you're all seated" Miss Murray began, "Let's begin by getting to know the person sitting next to you a little better. In this class, we're going to be discussing politics a lot, so, as an introduction, please tell your partner your name and some of your political views." She sat down at her desk and pulled out a copy of Vogue, and almost immediately the class was filled with animated chattering. Cartman looked at the blond ape-man sitting silently next to him, and sighed.

"Uh, I'm Jack. Jack Jefferson." He said. "And I guess I'm a liberal or something. You know, um, cuz I'm pro-marijuana and everything." Cartman looked at his pencil, wondering if it would be better to kill himself, or this Jack the jock guy. Instead of doing either of those things, he looked up and smiled sweetly, though in truth he looked about as sweet as a rabid wolf does as it leaps for your jugular.

"Nice to meet you, jock," He said, deliberately misunderstanding. "You can call me Cartman, and I hate hippies like you." The albino gorilla blinked stupidly for a few moments before speaking.

"Dude, um, hippies were awesome. They really stood for something, you know?" Cartman sighed.

"Hippies are goddamn druggie bastards who write crappy music and sit around on their asses doing nothing but singing and smoking. If you're going to whine so fucking much, get up and do something that doesn't annoy the crap out of us hardworking taxpayers!" Jockman blinked and Cartman continued, "If I could I would exterminate every last hippie." He concluded. Jack seemed to be shaken from his stupor and, after shooting a furtive look at Cartman, turned to talk to another ape sitting in the row behind them.

Cartman frowned; this was going to be a very long year.

* * *

During break, Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny met up in their usual spot; at a table in the rear of the cafeteria near one of the food carts. Stan had his head in his hands, and Kyle was thumbing through one of his textbooks. Cartman kept eyeing the muffins at the cart. Kenny spotted this, and shook his head.

"Don't do it, man." Cartman looked up.

"Do what?"

"You know you were undressing those muffins with your eyes." He said dryly. He unwrapped a granola bar and looked at Stan, who hadn't moved since sitting down five minutes ago. "What's wrong with you, Stan?" he asked, ignoring the daggers Cartman was glaring at him.

"Wendy's in his chemistry class." Kyle supplied. Stan looked up and nodded, looking slightly pale.

"I just . . .why?" He asked, looking very pitiful. Kenny cocked an eyebrow.

"Call me crazy, but I am not seeing the problem here." He said, crumpling up his granola bar wrapper and tossing it into the trash. "You like her, right? Well impress her with your...chemistry...skills." He paused. "You are so fucked."

"Seriously, Kenny, I am going to kill you someday." Cartman muttered darkly.

"It's not that," Stan said, "Though thanks for reminding me how bad I suck at science. But this morning I... accidentally scratched her new car." Kenny winced, and Cartman stood up. Kenny immediately turned to him and frowned.

"Dude, really?"

"Fuck you, Kenny." Cartman replied calmly. "I'm getting a muffin."

"So she'll hate me tomorrow." Stan continued morosely, unaware that Kenny's attention was now focused elsewhere. "She'll hate me and I'll never have a chance with her." Kyle sighed, and closed his textbook.

"Dude, she won't hate you." He said, taking pity on his friend. "It's just a car. She'll get over it eventually. Just...offer to pay to have it fixed?"

"Do you WANT to be a big fatass again?!" Kenny was shouting at Cartman in the background.

"I - Gad Dammit, Kenny, WHY ARE YOU SO POOR?!"

"I don't have that kind of money!" Stan said, "I'll just have to . . ." He paused, staring off into the distance. Kyle recognized that familiar glazed-over look his friend got when he was plotting something exceptionally retarded.

"...oh no... Stan - "

"No, Kyle, it's the only way to make sure she never, ever knows. I just have to get out and move my car somehow." They were both silent for a moment, all but oblivious to the raging battle going on behind them.

"CARTMAN YOU ARE A FAT FUCK!"

"NO AH'M NOT, KENNY, AH AM BIG BONED AND YOU KNOW IT!"

"THEN DON'T BUY THE FUCKING MUFFIN!"

"KENNY, AH SWEAR TO CHRIST-"

"Dude, when are you going to do that? You can't even get to your car until school's over." Stan shrugged, color returning to his face now that he had a plan to avoid Wendy's wrath.

"I'll just have to... leave early is all." He said, shrugging. "I'll leave early, and move my car, and it'll be fine."

"Yeah, but how are you going to get out of here before school ends?" Kyle asked skeptically. Stan thought a moment, drumming his fingertips against the table as he did so.

"We all have English together last." He said thoughtfully, "So I'm going to need all of you to pull this off. I'll get into the specifics later, but this should work." The bell rang and Stan, with renewed spring in his step, headed off to class. Kyle sighed. Not even a full day into the school year, and they were already getting in trouble.

* * *

Kyle's next class was government, and he fully expected it to be lame. Being a nearly straight As student, he was used to taking honors classes, and he was positive that a class meant for average students would probably drive him insane.

Luckily, there were at least some students he knew in his class. Tweek, Clyde, Bebe, and Rebecca, often called Red by her friends, were all seated towards the back of the room. Kyle headed over there and sat down next to Tweek, who, despite having seen him approach, still jumped about a foot.

"Hi Kyle!" Tweek yelped, left eye twitching slightly.

"Hi, Tweek." Kyle replied. He noticed that Tweek was holding an industrial-sized thermos and drinking from it every few seconds. "What do you have in there?"

"Coffee! To ease my nerves on the first day of school! AAAAH!" Kyle nodded soothingly. He would have to remember not to make any sudden movements; it had been a while since he'd been around Tweek. He turned his attention to Clyde, Bebe, and Red, who were all sitting behind them.

"Hi guys," he said. Clyde nodded in recognition, and Bebe tossed her blonde hair and smiled vapidly. Kyle was quickly reminded of how much he disliked her.

"Hi Kyle," she giggled, "So you have this class too?"

"I guess," he said. He had forgotten that Bebe wasn't exactly the smartest of girls. She smiled at him, and went back to playing with Clyde's hair in an extremely obvious and flirtatious way.

Since Bebe had quite clearly left the building, Kyle turned his attention to Red. He knew her a little; she had dated Kenny for about a month last year, and had spent a lot of time with him and the boys.

However, for most of that time, she had been attached to Kenny's face, so Kyle hadn't really spoken to her much.

"Hi, Red. How are things?" he asked, somewhat awkwardly. Clyde was now tickling Bebe, who was squealing and flailing. Why were all of his classes this year so incredibly weak?

"Oh, you know. Fine." She said, fiddling with her pencil. "So…"

"So…"

"Well, what are your views on government?" she asked. Kyle thought for a minute, and shrugged.

"Well…really I just don't give a shit." She grinned

"Cool. Me neither."

* * *

Wendy was the first person in her math class, as usual, and by the time the other students started trickling in she had already unpacked her belongings, claimed the best seat in the class, and introduced herself to her teacher. When the classroom started filling up she took her seat and opened up her well-worn copy of _Little Women_, intending to read until class started.

Unfortunately for her, it was not going to be a peaceful year.

"Oh no, I didn't know you were going to be in this class." She was jolted into awareness by a very familiar voice directly to her left. Wendy turned her head to see that Eric Cartman had taken the seat next to her, and was unpacking his new and probably very expensive backpack.

"If you don't want to be in the same class as me, then why are you sitting next to me?" Wendy asked, calmly marking her place in her book and setting it aside. Cartman gave a derisive snort.

"Yeah right like I'd want to sit next to any of these other douche-bags." He said. Several of the other students turned and gave him affronted looks, which he didn't seem to notice. Wendy did, however, and colored slightly.

"Cartman, you can't just walk into class and insult everyone in it!" She said in a lower voice, "We have to be in this class all year." He shrugged.

"So?" Wendy sighed.

"You really have no need to be liked, do you?" She observed, picking up her book again, intending to ignore him for the rest of the period. Cartman paused a moment before giving another derisive snort, causing the other students to stare.

"Of course not." Wendy shook her head and went back to her book, and was very relieved half an hour later when the bell rang to go to fourth period.

* * *

Kenny was bored.

He was so, so bored. He looked around for something to possibly make him less bored. It was the first day of school, so in P.E. they were just sitting around in the gym, doing nothing. The only people he knew in the class were Butters, who was sitting next to him, and Wendy, who was sitting off to the side reading a book. So Kenny had about twenty minutes left to kill and nothing whatsoever to do.

Not that he would rather be playing hockey or some other useless sport. Kenny didn't like sports at all, though he tended to be good at them by virtue of being tough and wiry, as well as somewhat coordinated and, it had to be said, a little reckless - mostly because it seemed like no matter how badly he was hurt, he always seemed to bounce right back. However, he didn't like sports because most of the ones they played in P.E. were all about teamwork, and Kenny's general attitude about teamwork tended to be along the lines of "Fuck teamwork". He checked the clock again, and sighed.

There was no other option; he was going to have to kill Butters for his own amusement. Because at this point he was so bored that it was either Butters or himself.

Butters was currently engrossed in some book about marble collecting, so Kenny bent over, pretending to tie his shoe. Butters didn't move, so carefully, he untied Butters' shoelaces and tied them together tightly. The other boy, who was somehow completely fascinated by marbles in a way that Kenny only ever was by girls' breasts, didn't notice anything.

He straightened up, and looked at Butters, pretending to notice something.

"Oh my god, Butters! There's a bee on your shirt!" The other boy jumped slightly, dropping his book.

"OH JESUS! IF I GET STUNG BY A BEE, MY PARENTS ARE GONNA GROUND ME!" Butters shouted, looking around for the bee.

"Quick, Butters, run to the bottom of the bleachers! The bee won't follow you!" Kenny suggested helpfully. Butters gave a frightened yelp and tried to run down the steps. However, thanks to the fact that, apart from being creative and poor, Kenny was a complete asshole, he flopped over the first step, and toppled the rest of the way to the ground. He hit the floor with a muffled "oof!", and twisted around to look up at Kenny accusingly.

Kenny, satisfied, turned and ran for it.

* * *

At lunch, nothing had changed; Stan was still resolute on somehow sneaking out of class early to move his car. He, Kyle, and Cartman were sitting at their usual table in the cafeteria, and Stan kept stealing glances at Wendy, who was sitting next to Bebe a few tables over. Kyle had tried several times to initiate some sort of conversation, but Stan kept making observations about Wendy, and honestly, he didn't really want to talk to Cartman.

"Dude, I have to do it. She's just sitting there…looking so happy…She doesn't know what I've done…" Stan began for what seemed like the millionth time. Kyle slammed down the bottle of water he had been drinking.

"Oh god damn it." He said simply. "You just _scratched_ it. _Barely_! You're making this into a big deal, and it's _not, _now eat your pudding before Cartman does." Cartman glared at Kyle.

"I was _not_ going to steal his pudding."

"Yes you were. You. Fatass."

"Jew bitch." He looked around. "Has anyone seen Kenny? We all have English together next."

Kyle looked around and, sure enough, Kenny wasn't anywhere in the room. He barely had time to wonder if maybe he was off lying dead in a ditch somewhere before the doors burst open, and Kenny walked into the cafeteria, bought lunch, and began stuffing his face.

"Damn, Kenny, I know you're having Doritos for dinner, but slow down." Cartman said, looking at the other boy reproachfully. Kenny stopped inhaling his food and looked up.

"I've been with the guidance counselor this whole time," he explained, "That stupid skank didn't seem to understand that I almost killed Butters because I was _bored_, not because I have 'problems at home'."

"But you _do_ have problems at home." Cartman said, not seeming to find anything wrong with the fact that Kenny had tried to kill Butters. He himself did it at least once a week. "You're having Doritos for dinner, your parents are alkies, and gad dammit Kenny you are just so fucking poor." Kenny's reply to this was muffled because his mouth was full, but the finger he thrust in Cartman's direction made the message perfectly clear.

"We have English next?" asked Stan, who had been staring at Wendy and had therefore missed everything that had been happening. "With who?" Kyle shrugged.

"It doesn't say on my schedule." Kyle explained, and the bell rang. "But I guess it's time to go and find out." The boys gathered up their belongings - Kenny stuffed the rest of his lunch in his mouth - and headed off towards the English wing.

* * *

It was Mrs. Garrison.

Kyle was first through the door, followed closely by Stan. Both boys stopped in the middle of the doorway, struck dumb by shock.. This could not be happening. It was senior year; they were supposed to have nice, normal people teaching them about the real world. Not a sexually confused woman who had failed to ever teach them anything except that they should avoid being like her - him? - at all costs.

"Oh, it's you," she said. "Yes, hello you little bastards. Happy to see me?" Cartman pushed his way past Stan and Kyle, who were still blocking the doorway, and immediately swore.

"Aw, FUCK!"

"Watch your language, Eric, and have a seat in the front." Cartman went, muttering darkly all the way. Stan and Kyle sat in the row behind him, and Kenny took a seat next to Cartman. Students filed in, and Mrs. Garrison handed out the class syllabus.

"All right kids, now this is a mythology and science-fiction class, so you're going to be reading a lot of really stupid stories while I sit at my desk and read Vogue. Any questions?" Stan raised his hand. "Yes Stanley?"

"Can Kyle go to the bathroom?" Kyle turned to raise his eyebrows at Stan. What the hell was he doing?

"What the hell are you doing?"

"You see," Stan continued, "Kyle…Kyle has explosive diarrhea." He explained, patting Kyle's shoulder sympathetically. Kyle shrugged him off, and opened his mouth to differ, but was interrupted by a sharp kick from Stan.

"What." Mrs. Garrison said dryly, putting her hand on her hip.

"Yeah, it's really gross. But can he go? Oh, and I have to go with him." Stan added, as an afterthought. He was already halfway out of his seat and taking Kyle with him.

"Why on earth would Kyle need you anywhere near him when he's—"

"Jesus Christ!" Kyle interrupted, putting his head into his hands. He tried to sit back down but Stan grabbed his collar and pulled him back up again.

"I have to make sure he doesn't…hyperventilate." Stan said. "It's really common among people with explosive…diarrhea…"

"Whatever, just go." Mrs. Garrison said, finally giving in. "Kyle, I hope you feel better."

"No, really, I don't have—"

"Come on Kyle," Stan said, grabbing his friend's arm and practically dragging him out of the room. "Let's get you out of here before you blow." This last statement was followed by several giggles from their classmates.

Once they were in the hallway, Kyle yanked his arm out of Stan's grasp.

"Have you gone completely _insane_?" he asked. "Explosive diarrhea? Only a complete idiot would believe that!"

"Exactly," Stan said, looking around the hallway. "Now let me know if you hear footsteps—there could be hall monitors."

Kyle wasn't terribly concerned—he would like to see the hall monitor that could stop Stan from getting to his car now—but nodded in agreement anyway, and the two set off down the hall.

* * *

Since it was the first day back, there hadn't been a chance to appoint hall monitors. And besides, who would try to skip class on the first day?

Kyle pondered their ironic luck as he and Stan crept down the corridors, peeking around corners to make sure there was no one there. There never was, and so they made it to the doors and out into the parking lot without incident. Kyle finally started breathing again, as Stan searched his pockets for his keys. His searching became more frantic as the color drained from his face. Kyle leaned against the car.

"Oh no."

"I had them when we left class!" he said, searching his pockets a second time, "I—I must have dropped them in the hallway!" Kyle stood up.

"Nice going, dumbass. _Now_ what are you going to do?" Stan took a deep breath, obviously fighting down nausea. School would be over in a little under an hour, so they had that long to find his keys, move his car, and get back into class.

"We're just going to have to go back inside and look for them," he said, walking back towards the doors. "Come on!"

"No way—I'm not going with you." Stan opened the doors.

"Fine, but don't blame me when you get caught by standing out here in the open." Kyle considered this for a moment and, admitting defeat, followed Stan into the building, muttering darkly the entire time.

The hardest part of this was retracing their steps. Stan had insisted on going through nearly every hallway in an attempt to be sneaky instead of going straight to the exit. They combed two different hallways, with no luck, before turning into a third. Stan stopped dead in his tracks, effectively stopping Kyle as well, who had been right behind him. He leaned over to look around his friend to see what had made him pause so suddenly.

He saw the keys twinkling innocently at them from the floor beneath a locker bay. And standing next to the keys, putting a book in her locker, was Wendy. Kyle tried to back away quietly, but it was too late; she had seen them.

"Hi Stan, hi Kyle!" she said brightly, closing her locker. Stan forced himself to breathe; it would be okay, he could just talk to her until she went back to class, and then he would get his keys. As long as he didn't say or do anything stupid, it would all be okay.

"Hi Wendy!" he said, feeling oddly calm, "What are you doing out of class?"

"I have study hall," she explained, "And we're not going anything, so I was putting my books away. What are you guys doing out of class?" They exchanged glances, and Kyle tried his hardest to send a telepathic message through his friend's thick head.

"_Stan, I swear to god if you tell her I have explosive diarrhea, I will stab you to death with your stupid car keys."_

"We were, uh—" Kyle began, trying to say something before Stan had a chance to.

"You see, Wendy—" Stan began, and Kyle hastily cut him off.

"We have Garrison for English, so we were just…wasting time out here." Kyle finished lamely. Wendy grinned.

"You guys never change." She opened her bag and put a folder in, shifting things around as she did so. With a slight 'flop', a small book - _Little Women_, as it happened - fell from her bag to the floor. She bent to pick it up, and spotted the keys.

"Oh my god, someone dropped their keys!" she said, picking them up. "I'd better turn these in somewhere." Stan blanched, and made a snap decision.

"Those are mine!" he said, "I must have dropped them. Thanks, Wendy!" She handed him the keys, looking puzzled.

"Oh, you're welcome," she paused, and grinned, leaning towards them in a conspiratorial way. "Hey, do you guys want to sneak out of here early? We could leave and go someplace fun—no one would miss us."

Oh god. Stan thought he might vomit again. Wendy Testaburger wanted to leave school and go 'someplace fun' with him - and Kyle, but he chose to ignore this - and if he did she would find out that he had scratched her brand new car. But if he didn't she would think that he just didn't want to spend time with her, which was exactly the opposite of the truth. Luckily, Kyle saved him once more.

"We can't!" Kyle blurted out. "We left our stuff in class. So we'd have to go get it," he shrugged apologetically and, next to him, Stan started to breathe again.

"Sorry, Wendy." Stan said, "But…" His face started to turn puce and Kyle rolled his eyes, "I'll meet you after class if you want. I think we're parked in the same lot." She smiled.

"Yeah okay." Wendy closed her bag and smoothed out her skirt. "So I'll see you later, then."

"See you," Stan echoed. She turned and walked down the hallway and out of sight, and the boys turned and walked back towards the door.

"That was close, man." Stan said, leaning against her locker.

"It would have been closer if I hadn't saved your ass." Kyle said. "You owe me."

"Yeah, okay," Stan said, pushing the doors open. "Well relax, we're in the clear now. _And_ I have a date with Wendy after school! So I guess it's almost a good thing I scratched her car!" He said, smiling. Kyle sighed.

"You are such an asshole."

* * *

While Stan and Kyle were out running around the campus, Kenny and Cartman were still trapped in English, listening to Mrs. Garrison talk. About absolutely nothing. Kenny was rhythmically banging his head on the desk, while Cartman was going cross-eyed with boredom.

"Oh god, I'm so bored." He said, "I swear, five more minutes of this and I'm going to pop."

"I'm not going to survive an entire year of this." Kenny said. "We have to get out of here." He looked around for some way to escape, but there didn't seem to be any. But Kenny knew that if anyone could get them out of here, it would be Cartman. Or possibly Brian Boitano.

"Kenny, I think even Mrs. Garrison would notice if we just walked out."

"I don't care, dude. He's been talking about Jennifer Aniston's hair for the past half hour! We'll just have to use the window!" He eyed the window, and decided that they could probably get through it. He would simply have to rely on Cartman's manipulative prowess to provide a distraction.

"Kenny, there is no way in hell I am going through that window," Cartman warned. Kenny, however, was prepared for this.

"Why? Afraid you won't fit?" He asked, sealing the bargain.

"God dammit, Kenny! Fine, we'll go out the window!" Cartman said, standing up. He grabbed his bag and walked nonchalantly—or so he thought—towards the side of the classroom.

"Eric, what are you doing?" Mrs. Garrison asked.

"Just opening a window to let some fresh summer air into the classroom, Mrs. Garrison," he explained, trying to sound innocent. He looked out into the hallway. "Oh my god, look over there - Stan and Kyle are making out in the hallway!"

Absolutely everyone looked, and Cartman opened the window as far as it would go, and dove through it. He got stuck for a moment, but wiggled and got free again. Kenny took a flying leap from his chair and flew through the window, managing to slip out before anyone noticed anything.

Mrs. Garrison looked at the closing window, and then back at the doorway as Stan and Kyle walked into the room. They looked around at the puzzled faces.

"…What?" Stan asked.

* * *

Tuesday, August 20

* * *

"Oh my god, you guys, I don't think I can take much more of this school bullcrap," Cartman said, inhaling one slice of pizza and reaching for another. Stan responded to this by using his straw to blow bubbles in the glass of lukewarm Coke he was drinking, and Kenny nodded his agreement.

"You'd better get used to it, fat boy; we still have nine months to go until graduation." Kyle said. Cartman cursed Kyle under his breath.

He, Cartman, Stan and Kenny were at Shakey's Pizza, hanging out after school. Unfortunately, what seemed like the entire student body of South Park High School had the same idea, so the place was extremely crowded, and the four boys had just managed to get a booth in the back. Stan hadn't touched his pizza yet, but had abandoned blowing bubbles in his coke in favor of shredding a napkin and staring at something behind Kyle, which was slightly unnerving.

"Stan, what are you looking at?" he asked. When Stan failed to reply, he turned and looked to see Wendy, Clyde, Bebe, and some blond jock, who was—and there was no other word for it—all over Wendy.

"Oh dude." Was all Kyle could say as he witnessed the somewhat one-sided flirting.

"He's like…a massive blonde boulder." Stan said. "Do you think Wendy likes him?" Cartman looked up from his pizza to see what they were talking about and immediately made a face.

"Oh god I hate that asshole." Stan snapped out of his daze and looked over at Cartman.

"You _know_ him?" he asked. Cartman nodded, surreptitiously stealing Stan's pizza as he did so.

"I sit next to him in government, and he's such a liberal hippie bastard," Cartman said in disgust. He looked at the slice of pizza in his hand, and put it down again. "He's a total douche." Stan reached for another napkin, and began shredding it.

"Look, It's not the end of the world." Kyle said, "Wendy's a pretty girl, and she's going to have guys flirting with her. It doesn't mean anything." Stan gave him a pitiful look, and Kenny stepped in.

"Maybe you should just go talk to her." Kenny said. "It's no big deal. Get your ass over there and ask her if you have any homework in that one class you have with her. It's a legit reason for going up to her."

"But we don't have any chemistry homework," Stan said. Kenny sighed.

"Yes, but she doesn't know that you know you have no homework."

"Yes, she does. Because in class today when Mr. Simpson told us we don't have any homework, I said 'Oh sweet, we have no homework,' and she said, 'Great, this means I only have math homework,' and then I said—"

"Then find another fucking topic!" Kenny interrupted. "But you'd better get over there, or Cartman will kick you in the balls."

"Squire in the nuts." Cartman agreed, studiously ignoring the remaining pizza. Stan hesitated, before standing up and walking over to Wendy's table. She looked up from her conversation with the blond gorilla-boy and smiled at him. The gorilla did not look happy at all, but shot a dark look at Stan.

"Hi, Stan!" Wendy said brightly. Bebe raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. "What's up?" Stan smiled back, and realized he had absolutely nothing to say.

"Hi, Wendy!" he said, desperately trying to think of something, anything, to say to her. "I was just wondering…um…did we have any chemistry homework?" Back at their table, Kyle put his head in his hands, and Kenny sighed in frustration. Wendy cocked her head, looking puzzled.

"No, remember, you said 'Oh sweet, we have no homework'?" Stan nodded, feeling himself slowly turn red.

"Oh yeah. I guess I just forgot. Sorry for bugging you," he mumbled. She smiled, not seeming bothered by him at all.

"You're not bugging me." She insisted. "Who are you here with?"

"Just Kyle, Kenny and Cartman." He said, pointing back towards the table. The blond lump next to Wendy raised his eyebrows and took a swig of Pepsi.

"Eric Cartman? Dude, that son of a bitch is seriously fucked up. How can you be friends with him?" he asked, and Stan shrugged.

"He's never boring," he said. "And he's not that bad once you get used to him." The jock scoffed and Stan felt his dislike for the albino giant increase.

"Naw, dude, that guy's fucking crazy."

"Oh _hello_, dickhole," came a voice from Stan's left. Stan sighed. Of course. Of course Cartman would have to come confront the guy. He could sense another chili parents incident coming on.

"Maybe you should just leave," the jock said to Stan. "And take your chubby friend with you." Wendy gave Stan an apologetic look, but said nothing. Stan took this as assent, and nodded slightly.

"Whatever," he said. "Come on, Cartman."

"I'm _not_ fat anymore, gad _damn_ it!" Cartman shouted. A nearby waiter looked at them apprehensively. "You know what, screw you gahs, ah'm going to _my_ Shakey's Pizza!" And with that, he walked back to the table, grabbed the round pan with the remaining pizza, and a napkin dispenser, and headed towards the door. The waiter, looking frightened, followed hesitantly.

"Um, you know, that pan and napkin dispenser belong to us. You can't take those with you."

"AH SAID SCREW YOU GAHS!" was Cartman's shouted reply as he slammed the doors open and walked briskly outside. Kenny and Kyle followed, and so did Stan, after leaving a generous tip. He left in such a hurry that he missed the look of faint regret on Wendy's face as she watched him go.

* * *

"I can't believe that guy," Stan said, slamming the door to the identical Shakey's Pizza next door. Cartman, complete bastard that he was, had used the stem cells of aborted fetuses to build it about ten years ago. The place was dirty and in disrepair, but they still liked to hang out there sometimes, because no one else was inclined to go into a building made out of fetuses. In fact, Wendy had boycotted the real Shakey's for years in protest. Stan sighed. "What does Wendy even see in him?"

"I dunno, dude." Kenny said, "But hey, you like her, right?"

"Well yeah, dude, I'm really into her." Stan said.

"Not yet you aren't," Kenny said, and before Stan could say anything, he continued. "Just talk to her about stuff in class. And then, when she's talked to you enough, ask her out or something." Stan paled.

"No, I couldn't ask her out—"

"It's the only way you're going to get anywhere!" Kenny said. "Isn't that right, Kyle?" Kyle, surprised at being brought into the conversation, looked up, and nodded.

"Yeah, dude, we only have one year left; you should go for it." Stan gulped, and nodded, still looking pale.

"Yeah." He said. "Yeah, I think you guys are right."

* * *

Friday, August 30

* * *

Stan turned on the gas, sparked a flame, and sighed. He had been talking with Wendy in class for a week now, and he had promised Kenny that today he would ask her out to a movie. They were in chemistry now, and doing an experiment with burning magnesium. He was lighting the flame, and Wendy was reading the instructions. So far he hadn't said that much to her at all, because his nerves had gotten the best of him, but he was determined to do it.

"All right, now it says to hold it with the tongs over the flame." She looked up, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "Stan, are you listening?"

"What? Oh, yeah." He said. "I just…Wendy, can I ask you something?" She put down the paper she was holding, looking slightly concerned.

"Sure." Stan took a deep breath.

"Well, Wendy, I was wondering if—"

_FOOSH._

The magnesium, which he had been holding with a pair of tongs, burst into flame. Stan hadn't been paying attention, and had held it too close to the fire. He jumped, startled, and the burning magnesium dropped onto his sleeve, setting it on fire.

"OH SHIT!" he yelped, flailing.

"Oh my god! Don't move, I'll get the fire blanket!" Wendy yelped. She turned around to get it and Stan, still flailing, waved his hand too close to her long hair, accidentally catching the ends on fire. Wendy dropped the fire blanket and screamed.

Stan dove for the blanket, and then for Wendy's hair. He ended up practically tackling her; she fell over, and so did he, luckily falling with the blanket on her hair. The smell of smoke and burnt hair filled the room, and Stan coughed as the fire alarm began to screech.

"All right, everyone out of the building!" Mr. Simpson said, ushering students out. Stan sat up, taking the fire blanket with him. Wendy sat up also, coughing, and looking in dismay at her badly burned hair.

"Are you all right?" he asked. She didn't look as though she had been hurt. She was looking at her hair, which was, it had to be said, more than singed; her waist-length hair was now burnt up to the middle of her back, and was scorched and smoking. Her eyes filled with tears, and she sniffed.

"No I am not all right!" she said loudly, "Look at my hair!" She looked at the ends and sniffled once more. "It took me years to grow it out, and one lab with you and it's gone!"

"Wendy, I'm sorry—it was an accident!" he said. She stood up angrily, and he decided that he was obviously going to have to break his promise to Kenny.

"And why weren't you paying attention to where you were holding the magnesium?! You knew it was flammable! I could have been really badly burned!" she said in a rush, before burying her face in her hands. Stan felt the familiar sensation of nausea creeping up on him.

"Wendy—I—is there anything I can do?"

Before she could reply, however, the door burst open, and two firemen ran into the room.

"Oh my god, there are students in here!" one of them cried. "Come with us, children!" And with that, he grabbed Stan by the waist and flung him lightly over his shoulder. From the indignant squeaking behind him, he guessed that the second fireman had done the same to Wendy. He felt himself being carried downstairs and through the halls and out of the building to the parking lot, where the rest of the school was. Suddenly, the fireman hoisted Stan off his shoulder and set him on the ground.

"Did you even notice that the building _wasn't on fire_?" Stan asked angrily. The fireman paused.

"Oh no, I guess it wasn't." he said mildly, before turning around and walking away. Stan looked around for Wendy, but she had found Bebe, who was doing her best to comfort her friend. Wendy had obviously told Bebe what had happened in chemistry, because she kept shooting reproachful glances at Stan. He sighed, and looked around for someone he knew who didn't hate him. But what he found was Cartman, who walked up, and looked at what was left of Wendy's hair.

"Wow, you really fucked that up," he said mildly.

"How did you—"

"Word spreads fast." He said dismissively. "Geez, I know you like her, but did you have to burn her hair off to prove it?" Stan didn't reply, however, because Kenny walked up, took one look at Wendy's hair, and started laughing.

"Dude!" Stan exclaimed, afraid that Wendy would hear Kenny laughing, "It's not funny! I burned off all her hair!"

"I'm not laughing at her, I'm laughing at _you_!" Kenny said, "You're so incredibly lame that you can't even ask a girl out without lighting her on fire!" Stan contemplated killing Kenny, but thought better of it. He took several deep breaths, and ran his hands through his hair, which immediately reminded him of the inexcusable act he had committed. He forced himself to relax.

"It's okay, I'll just apologize to her later, and everything will be fine. Right?" Kenny patted Stan on the back, looking sympathetic.

"Sure, man. Sure."

**Author's Note:** So you have no idea how much I agonized over this first chapter and keeping them in character. Really. It was terrible. Anyhow, the next chapter will hopefully be up . . . someday. Someday . . .


	2. September

**Author's Note: **Bet you never expected to see this, huh? I just want to say that I may or may not finish this fic, and if I do it could be within the next few months or in another two years – this is just something fun to work on right now as a change of pace from my other projects.

Anyway, enjoy! For what it's worth I'm planning to start on the next chapter soon.

* * *

**ALL THE YOUNG DUDES**

**SEPTEMBER**

_What do I do when my love is away?_

_Does it worry you to be alone?_

_How do I feel by the end of the day?_

_Are you sad because you're on your own?_

_No, I get by with a little help from my friends_

_Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends_

_Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends_

_Do you need anybody?_

_I need somebody to love_

_Could it be anybody?_

_I want somebody to love_

_

* * *

_

Monday, September 2

* * *

Stan walked apprehensively into his first period chemistry class, and looked around. He hadn't been back since last Friday, when he had accidentally set quite a few things on fire while trying to ask Wendy out. Well, he definitely wouldn't try that again.

He walked over to the table where Wendy was already seated, and put his bag down. He glanced her way long enough to note that she was reading a book, before immediately doing a double-take. Her once waist-length black hair was now cropped short in a bob which, if anything, just made her look even cuter. He cleared his throat, and she glanced over at him.

"Oh, hi Stan." She said coolly.

"Hi Wendy," he replied. "Um, I'm sorry again about that…" he made a gesture in the general area of his head. "You know. But you look good with short hair!" she closed her book, and her expression softened slightly.

"Thanks. I was actually thinking about cutting it short anyway." She frowned, "Though now I couldn't even donate the rest of it because it was all damaged." She paused, and picked up her book again, clearly still upset with him.

"I'm really, really sorry." He said again.

"Yes, well, so am I." She said.

"All right class," Mr. Simpson said, "If you'll all just pass your homework to the front…"

* * *

Why did he have to have math first thing in the morning? It was almost inhumane.

Wait… forget 'almost'. It _was_ inhumane.

Kyle rubbed his eyes again, trying to make them focus properly, but it just wasn't happening. His teacher had finished lecturing for the day, and had left the notes on the board. Kyle was trying and failing to concentrate long enough to copy them all down when all he really wanted to do was put his head down on the desk and sleep.

His math teacher had turned out to be a real douche and had assigned them all to seats on the second day of school. Kyle was between two boys who both seemed to know each other; Rick and Stewart. Both were pale and sickly-looking, though Rick was scrawny and Stewart was pudgy. This alone would not bother Kyle if Rick wasn't such a huge jackass. He was really smart, sure – he was taking the already-advanced class as a junior- but did he have to rub it in all the time? His penchant for asshole-ism coupled with his nerdiness made Kyle dread math. And to add insult to injury, all three of them were seated at the very front of the classroom, which meant that any chance Kyle had of being able to sleep unnoticed was about as big as Rick's chance of ever getting laid: slim to none.

"What's wrong, Kyle? Having problems concentrating?" Kyle winced; Rick's voice was like the sound of sandpaper on a chalkboard to Kyle's fatigued ears.

"No, Rick. I'm just tired." Kyle told him patiently. Rick had an annoying habit of never shutting up. Normally Kyle wouldn't mind having someone to talk to, but Rick was just such a geeky douche-bag that he usually tried to end the conversation as soon as possible.

"Oh I bet. I forgot that jocks like you are always out partying all night." Rick said. Stewart giggled from somewhere off to Kyle's right.

"What?" Kyle yelped incredulously, becoming slightly more awake.

"Well you sporty popular types are always at parties, huh?" Rick scoffed, "I mean, you're always hangin' with your crew in the hizz-ouse." Several students snickered, and Kyle looked around at the nerds in surprise. They thought he was a jock? What the _hell_?

"Look I don't know what you're talking about, but I'm just not a morning person. I don't see how that equates to athlete. I'm not an athlete. Just… no."

"Maybe not this season," Rick said snidely, "But you're definitely one of those 'cool kids'. You know, with the fancy cars and the hot girlfriends." Kyle stared.

"What's it like to have a girlfriend?" One of the boys sitting in the back queried stuffily.

"I don't even have a car," Kyle said, exasperated, "Or a girlfriend. Look, dude, I don't know what in the hell your problem is, but shut up."

"Oh sure 'dude'." Rick said, deliberately emphasizing Kyle's trademark word. "No problem 'dude'." Kyle resisted the urge to step on Rick's face, and went back to copying the notes off the board, perhaps with more force than was necessary. Rick waited for a moment before going back to doing his homework without the use of a calculator. No one had any idea what the hell Stewart was doing.

It wasn't until after the bell had rung and Kyle was furiously packing his bag when he realized that for the first time in his life he had just been made fun of for not being a nerd.

* * *

"She hates me."

"What?" Kyle looked up from the math problems he was still puzzling over to see Stan practically collapse next to him on the bench he was seated on. "Who? Wendy?" Stan sighed by way of response and began hitting his head against the top of the table. "Well, yeah, she's going to be angry with you for a while, dude."

"No, she _hates_ me. She probably thinks I did it on purpose or something."

"_What_?"

"Like… I … wanted her to notice me, so I lit her hair on fire." Kyle paused, and began putting his books back into his bag.

"Isn't that almost exactly what happened? Anyway, you're worrying about this too much. You suck now, dude." Stan was hitting his head on the table with increasing force and Kyle, worried for whatever was left of his friend's frontal lobe, grabbed the back of Stan's shirt and pulled him away from the table. "She's just a girl."

"But she's the best girl _ever_." Kyle let go of Stan's shirt, and Stan flopped back onto the table. Kyle stood up, mildly disgusted.

"I'm going to go talk to Cartman now. That's how much I think you suck."

He was spared from actually having to do this, however, when the bell rang, and Stan dragged himself up from the seat, looking somewhat miserable. Kyle looked around, but the only other person nearby was Cartman, who appeared to be so deeply brooding that he wasn't even looking at the muffin cart.

"Hey where's Kenny?" Kyle asked. Stan looked around and shrugged.

"I dunno, dude. Maybe he died." Kyle looked around and decided that this must be true, before heading off to class.

* * *

Kenny was not dead, but rather, on a mission.

This particular mission involved a couple of safety pins, Butters' gym locker, and his own gym lock, borrowed for the cause. This was, of course, only phase one, but every part of a prank had to be carefully planned and delicately executed, or else the whole thing would topple like a house of cards.

The small prank he had played on Butters the first week of class had given him an idea – not really an idea so much as an obligation. With Cartman's attention so scattered for the past month he had been, for the most part, leaving Butters alone completely. The kid was getting too complacent; whistling while he walked from class to class, turning his back on his belongings for two seconds while he opened his locker – just who did he think he was?

The world was not a safe place, and clearly it fell to Kenny to remind Butters of this. Daily, forcefully, and painfully, if necessary.

Not to mention torturing Butters would make P.E. a lot more tolerable. Kenny shouldn't have to be the only one to suffer.

After the prep work was over, he retreated to his third-period class, where he sat through an hour of biology hardly listening to what the teacher was saying. It was vital that he get phase two right.

He strolled into P.E. a few minutes later than usual and quickly changed into his gym clothes (which were in his backpack, along with an open lock) in the locker room, pointedly ignoring the frustrated clanging on the other side of the row of lockers. As he was tucking his clothes back into his locker, he turned around, pretending to notice Butters for the first time.

"Hey Butters. Something wrong?" He asked, zipping up his backpack casually. Butters was looking appropriately harried, and the late bell was due to ring in about three minutes. Kenny congratulated himself on being an evil genius.

"Oh my lock won't open is all," He tugged on it again, but the lock was refusing to budge. Probably because it was, in fact, Kenny's. "I need to get my clothes – if I show up to class in my street clothes Mr. Jones is gonna ground me." Butters paused for a moment, catching himself, "I mean – mark me as absent." He turned back to the locker "My parents'll ground me." he muttered.

"Huh." Kenny said, "Well I dunno about the lock, but if you want I have an extra set of clothes you can borrow. We're about the same size so they should fit okay," he pulled a pair of their school shorts and the regulation t-shirt from his bag. They should fit Butters like a charm, actually considering they were really his – albeit with minor alterations. Kenny supposed he could have just left the clothes in Butters' locker for him to find, saving himself some trouble and a missed morning break – but the beauty of this was that by now the other boy was too flustered and worried about being late to even notice what he was changing into.

"Well sure Kenny. That's awfully nice of you." Butters accepted the clothes gratefully and hastily changed, while Kenny made a big show of trying to stuff his backpack into his locker. He managed it just as Butters, done changing, tucked his backpack under the benches and hightailed it out of the locker room, never once noticing that the back of his shirt read ' $5 Blow Jobs', lovingly penned by Kenny with fabric paint stolen from the art classroom. Kenny followed more slowly, all of his energy now turned to the task of trying not to laugh.

He tailed Butters, who was making his way outside, where the rest of the class was already standing around. Mr. Jones was yet to arrive – perfect. Phase 2: complete. Kenny leaned against the brick wall of the building, preparing for Phase 3: enjoying the chaos he had wrought. He was not disappointed when Mr. Jones – an overweight, balding man in his forties, walked over, and stopped short, seeing Butters' shirt.

"STOTCH." He bellowed, walking over. Butters whirled around, looking horrified. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Th-this is gym class sir," Butters stammered.

"I meant the shirt." Butters just looked puzzled at this.

"The shirt?"

"Yes, Stotch, the shirt!" Mr. Jones continued angrily, "You know, these gym uniforms have been the same ever since I attended South Park High as a boy. They are not to be used as an advertising vehicle for your get-rich quick schemes!" Butters continued to look puzzled. Kenny watched as Wendy sighed, and, apparently taking pity on Butters, walked up and whispered something in his ear. All the color drained out of Butters' face.

"Oh Jesus!" He yelped.

"Prayer won't help you now. Ordinarily I would speak to the guidance counselor about this but I think, under the circumstances, I had better contact your parents as well."

"P-please, sir, if my mom and dad hear about this, well, they'll be awful sore!" Mr. Jones shook his head, and took hold of Butters' arm.

"No use begging, it's off to the principal's office with you." He looked around, "You kids stay here until I get back!" Within seconds, they were out of sight. The other kids in the class looked at each other for a moment, and then dispersed. Kenny headed back to the locker room to switch the locks back and get his stuff – no way was he sticking around.

* * *

Wednesday, September 18

* * *

Eric Cartman was always ready to argue.

He was the rare sort of person who never had an off day, never just didn't feel like fighting about something, and never let something go. He absolutely wouldn't leave it alone unless he was able to walk away knowing he had gotten the better of his opponent.

So, when he walked into his government class first period to find that the room was set up with a podium at the front and the words 'DEBATE TODAY' written on the whiteboard, the first thing he did was look around, trying to decide who he would reduce to tears today.

He had discovered a passion for arguing when he was younger, but over the years it had developed into nothing short of an art form. There was nothing quite like that moment in the heat of a debate when you made the perfect point, sending your opponent reeling in a veritable Hiroshima of logic. Being right was a wonderful thing. Discussions become boring after a while, so around his junior year, Cartman had decided to spice it up and made it his goal to make at least one person cry every time he debated something. This turned out to be one of his best ideas ever, because not only did he get to argue with someone, he also got the satisfaction of seeing that person cry afterwards. It took a little more effort than just winning but hey, nothing worth having ever came easy.

Today, he was feeling up to a challenge. Today he was also feeling particularly spiteful, and so he decided that today his target would be the oversized white monkey lounging across both his and Cartman's desks. Cartman stepped up to the desk, cleared his throat, and shoved Jack off of it. In doing this, he shoved Jack off Jack's desk as well, and onto the floor, where he landed with a grunt. Cartman sat down, and set his backpack next to him.

"What the hell, man?" Jack demanded, sitting up and brushing himself off. Cartman looked over at him.

"Oh I'm sorry, was that you at my desk? I thought it was a pile of moldy rotten sewage left there by mistake. My bad." He gave Jack an insincere smile and turned back towards the front of the classroom. Jack climbed back in his seat.

"Don't be such a fucking asshole." He muttered, and for once, Cartman didn't feel the need to reply. However, if Jack had happened to catch the look on Cartman's face just then, he probably would have wet himself and started crying on the spot. Cartman had chosen his victim.

A few rounds into the debate, and Cartman was just warming up – a comment here, a comment there. Ms. Murray had called up the first few pairs of students to debate, before people had started getting into it enough to volunteer to debate. He had let several good topics pass - gay marriage, abortion, gun control - he was just waiting for Jack to volunteer, and then he would be all over it, like Kenny on a cheap hooker.

"All right, that's enough for taxes," Ms. Murray said, cutting off a girl who was practically sobbing as she argued her case for flat taxes, mascara running down her face as she babbled about how everyone should be equal. Ms. Murray gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder, and the girl scampered off to her seat. "Our next topic is going to be censorship. Do we have any volunteers?" To Cartman's right, Jack's hand went up, and, thanks to reflexes hones by years of video games, a split second later Cartman's hand shot up as well.

"All right, boys." Ms. Murray said, looking somewhat doubtful, "You know how it is, for speaks first, and then against. Choose sides and begin. And let's try and keep it civil." She added, spotting the look on Cartman's face. The look that promised certain death.

"So, uh, I'm actually for censorship in the media." Jack said, "I have a little brother and I don't think he should be seeing some stuff." Ms. Murray nodded.

"Cartman, do you think you could represent against, then?"

"Oh absolutely." Cartman said sweetly. "Go ahead, Jack. Make my day." Jack gave him a puzzled look, before standing in front of the podium and facing the class.

"Well, I don't think that some things should be shown on television." He said uncertainly. "Like I said, I have a little brother, and I don't think younger kids should be able to see anything that the TV stations decide to broadcast. Like violence, and language, and sexual stuff. It just isn't ok to put that stuff on TV. If people want to see it, they should rent a movie, or buy channels with that stuff or something." He looked at Cartman, who got the hint that it must be his turn now. He stepped towards the podium.

"TV stations should be able to show whatever the hell they want." He said. "Just because something's on TV doesn't mean your kid brother has to watch it. It's not the job of the TV stations to determine what kids should see - that's the parents' job. You shouldn't rely on television as a babysitter for children - that's not what it's intended for, and if you're just plopping your kid down in front of a TV with a remote and letting them watch whatever, well then obviously they're going to end up watching something they shouldn't be. If everything on TV was rated G, then those of us who aren't four years old would be bored out of our minds. Censorship is a stupid idea, unless it's done by the parents and not the broadcasting stations." He stepped back from the podium, and Ms. Murray raised an eyebrow.

"Well what about other kinds of censorship?" She prompted, "Do the two of you think that certain things should be censored and others shouldn't?"

"No." Cartman said, looking at Jack as though daring the other boy to contradict him. "Either it's all ok or none of it is. Seriously, anything else is just messed up."

"Dude, that's messed up." Jack said, speaking directly to Cartman for the first time in the debate. "You can't tell me that, like, swearing and nudity and stuff isn't worse than violence, cuz it totally is! I mean, violence is like, less ... scarring to children."

"No it isn't, you tower of stupid." Cartman said, "Violence is probably worse, and we're not even talking about children anymore!"

"Well you're just a douche-bag!" Jack said, clearly upset by the 'tower of stupid' comment. "You want to show like, friggin sex scenes to children and stuff!"

"Look, ape-tits, you're the one who thinks that you should let kids watch anything they want! That's way worse than anything I said!"

"Whoa, boys-"

"No it isn't! And it's not what I said! Stop fucking with my words!"

"I'll fuck with whatever I want, asshole!"

"BOYS!" Ms. Murray shouted, attempting to get their attention, "Clearly this debate is too much for you, so maybe you had both better just sit down and let someone else take the floor." Cartman froze. He couldn't give up this easily. Jack's eyes weren't even watering yet.

"I think we both had such strong feelings on the topic that we couldn't help but yell about it." Cartman suggested calmly. Ms. Murray blinked. "Maybe if we had a less controversial topic we would be able to express ourselves more clearly." Ms. Murray sighed and looked through the cards she held with debate topics written on them.

"All right, I'll give you one more chance. Should more money be given to schools?"

"No." Cartman said, at the same moment Jack said "Yes."

"All right." Ms. Murray said, "Explain."

"We need more money." Jack said earnestly, "For new uniforms for the football team! The ones we're using now are like, ten years old and all of the other teams have newer ones. We look like we can't afford to get new stuff. Also we had to cut the budget for homecoming this year, which just sucks." While he spoke, Ms. Murray was summoned into the hallway by another teacher, and Cartman seized his opportunity.

"Dude, homecoming's stupid anyway." Carman remarked. "It's just a chance for you stupid jocks to blow all the money the school happens to get on a huge party for no reason, and a couple of fake crowns for the biggest douches. It's an embarrassment."

"Homecoming promotes school unity!" Jack said, turning slightly pinkish. _Finally._

"School unity my ass, it promotes you getting to wear tight little pants and a faggy cape. That's not unity that's just dumb. The school shouldn't get more money cuz it needs to learn to not spend the money it does get on useless crap like that."

"It's not crap! It's a tradition you fucking dick!" Jack said.

"Look ass-sucker, it's a tradition that makes no sense and uses up most of the funds that the school gets for sports! I mean, I hate sports, but I'd rather get new volleyball nets or something than a ceremony that means you get to show off how gay you are. I mean, what you do on your own time is fine with me, but whatever."

"Stop calling me gay!" Jack said, face completely red by now. "You just hate homecoming because there's no chance that you'd ever get nominated for king, because everyone hates you! No wonder you hate homecoming! It just reminds you of what a loser you are!" Cartman didn't usually get riled by debates, but at this, he felt his hackles rise.

"Listen you little bitch, I couldn't care less about homecoming, and homecoming king! Anyone who actually wants that has no life!"

"Like you, you mean!"

"Or maybe you don't like it because you get to wear tight pants and a faggy crown, maybe you like it because you like to see other guys in tight pants. Is that why, Jack? Got something to tell us, ass-pirate? Is homecoming the most wonderful time of the year because it's like a big, fat homo-fest?"

And that's when Jack's fist collided with Cartman's head, and everything went dark.

* * *

It was only dark for a second, but it was enough to thoroughly confuse and piss off Cartman, who was already somewhat annoyed, and certainly in no mood to be punched. He opened his eyes to see his classmates looking horrified, Jack looking satisfied, and Ms. Murray standing in the doorway looking outraged. In fact, she looked about the way Cartman felt.

"What has been going on in here?" She asked, striding over to where Cartman was sitting up on the floor. She knelt next to him and looked at his face, which was hurting like a mother, though he didn't want to admit it.

"This asshole punched me because I was making a better argument than he was!" Cartman shouted. "I think he should be expelled for such violent behavior!"

"He called me gay!" Jack said, and his classmates nodded.

"I did not!" Cartman said, "Not really! They can tell you, and you douche-bags had better not side with the Great White Wonder just because he prances around in tights every week, or ah swear to Christ-!"

"You see! This is exactly what he was doing!" Jack interjected, doing his best to look as though he were the wronged one and not the one who had just punched out another kid.

"How is calling someone gay even an insult?" Cartman shot back, figuring there had to be enough liberals in the room that someone would agree.

"We'll figure this out in the counselor's office!" Ms Murray said. "Now both of you, come with me!" She walked out of the room and Jack and Cartman, looking as though they were about to kill each other, followed her.

* * *

Lunch was unusually lame. Kenny was eating a pop tart, Kyle was trying to make sense of a ridiculously complicated math problem, Cartman was nowhere to be found, and Stan was halfheartedly chewing on a spork while staring longingly over at the table where Wendy and Bebe were seated, chatting animatedly. Kyle glanced up from his notebook, and sighed.

"Dude, you're about to cross the line from 'socially acceptable behavior' right into 'creepy'. He was being nice. Stan had crossed over into 'creepy' years ago. The spork fell out of Stan's mouth as he hastily tried to look innocent.

"I wasn't-"

"You were." Kyle said tersely. He was getting more than a little tired of all this Wendy talk. It was all he ever heard about from Stan anymore. Stan looked beseechingly at Kenny, who put down the pop tart and nodded.

"It's pretty pathetic."

"Well the next time you set someone on fire and are _wracked by guilt_, don't come whining to me." Stan snapped. Kyle opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by Cartman stomping up to their table and dropping his tray on it, looking murderous.

"Gentleman," He began in the tone of voice that said someone's personal belongings were about to be set on fire, "Something must be done about Jock." Stan looked up at this, looking as though Christmas had come early.

"Yes," He said, "I agree – what should we do to him? The more cruel and unusual the better."

"No." Kyle said flatly, "Nothing illegal – or at least don't plan it while I'm around – I don't want to be charged as an accessory, not after last time." Cartman ignored both of them.

"Do you know what that fucker did this morning?" Without waiting for an answer he continued, in that same eerily calm tone, "He punched me during a debate. And then when the teacher took us to the principal, she wouldn't do shit about it, all 'mistakes were made on both sides' and 'I'm sure you are both very sorry' – it's _bullshit_, she just wants him to be able to play in the homecoming game against West Park next week!"

"Yeah, well, what are you going to do about it?" Kenny asked, leaning forward in what Kyle could only assume was morbid curiosity.

"Hit him where it hurts." Cartman said. "I need time to sort out the details – meet me after school in my Shakey's."

* * *

After the last bell of the day rang, setting the students free from their academic prison, Stan found himself walking alone to his locker, after swearing to Cartman to be at Shakey's by three. Though often unmotivated, whenever there were pranks or vengeance involved, Cartman became nothing short of a machine, extracting retribution in mentally scarring, often borderline-psychotic ways.

Stan didn't want to admit it to himself, but he kind of wanted to see Jack suffer.

He was so preoccupied with wondering what Cartman could possibly have in mind that he nearly walked into Wendy, who was standing by his locker, looking anxious.

"Hi Stan!" She blurted, after he stepped quickly backwards, narrowly avoiding stepping on her new boots.

"H-hi Wendy," He managed. They hadn't had much contact since the Hair Incident, as Stan thought of it. Apart from small talk exchanged in class they had, in fact, barely spoken. "What's up?"

"Well I was looking over my notes and I noticed some inconsistencies, and I was just wondering if I could borrow yours." She asked. Stan nodded, already fishing around in his backpack… notes… notes…_where are the fucking notes_? He found them at last, shoved helter-skelter into his Government notebook, and pulled them out, smoothing them as much as possible but still wincing at the barely-legible chicken scratch.

"Um… thanks," She said, carefully putting them in her binder. Stan couldn't help but notice that all of her notes were clearly written and seemed to be arranged by lecture. He suddenly felt unworthy to stand in her presence.

"No problem," He muttered, "Well… I should go. Gotta meet the guys." She nodded.

"Yeah… I wouldn't want to keep you." She made no move towards the exit however. Stan wondered if she was going to yell at him. He suddenly began to feel nauseous.

"Well… see ya!" He yelped, turned, and bolted. It wasn't until he was halfway down the hall before he realized that to get to his car he should be heading the opposite direction.

* * *

Stan got to Shakey's only ten minutes late. He walked in to find the other three already seated at their usual table – even though they were the only ones to ever come in here, they still had a 'usual' table, in the same location as their table at the regular, non-fetus-formed Shakey's: close enough to the arcade but not too far from the kitchen.

"Where the hell have you been?" Cartman's voice greeted him.

"Nowhere," Stan half-yelped in a voice that was at least half an octave above his usual speaking voice, hurrying to take a seat. This garnered very odd looks from both Kyle and Kenny but Cartman only nodded – he was a man on a mission. He'd caught the scent of blood in the water and there was no stopping him now. He turned to a large easel that was standing beside the table, with what looked like an outline of the school drawn on it, and pulled out a pointer.

"All right, well, the reason I've called you all hnyah today is to discuss the impending downfall of Jock the Jock. Being what he is it can be safe to say that his favorite thing is probably football. And what's the biggest football game of the season?" No one said anything, "That's right. Homecoming." Stan's heart sank. It was one thing to ruin Jack's life but to ruin Homecoming?

"Remember the rules," Kyle said suddenly, and Cartman nodded dismissively.

"I know, I know: no felonies, nothing that could come back to bite us in the ass, and no felonies." He said, reciting the three prank rules the boys lived by. After the Great Shitstorm of 2005 (which had started out to be an innocent plumbing-related prank and ended up being an actual shitstorm) they had agreed rules were needed. "My plan is foolproof. Allow me to explain – Phase One involves you, Kenny, since you're the fastest one out of all of us…"

* * *

Tuesday, September 24

* * *

"Cartman, I'm talking to you. Are you even listening?"

Eric looked up from the various diagrams he was sketching in his math notebook to find Wendy looking at him, brows drawn together in suspicion.

"What are you drawing?" She asked, leaning over to try and see. He slammed his notebook shut.

"Nice try Wendy but you'll never get ahead by cheating. Do your own homework." She scowled and Cartman felt gratified.

"You know that's not what I was doing, asshole. _Anyway_, as I was saying – I really, really hope you're not planning to do anything terrible to Jack." She said, with a look that clearly said _I know you're planning to do something terrible and probably illegal to Jack._

"Relax your balls, bitch, I don't want anything to do with that douche-cruiser." He said casually. Because it was true; he didn't want anything to do with Jack – all he wanted was for Jack to die painfully, and as he refused to oblige, Cartman was forced to put him in his place. It didn't mean he _wanted_ to.

Though he did want to.

Wendy sighed. "Look, all I'm asking is that you don't ruin homecoming. Can you at least promise me you won't- I don't know – blow up the football stadium? Or – or burn all their uniforms?" Cartman held up a hand.

"All excellent ideas, but I would never operate in such an unsubtle way." He told her, "If I were planning to do anything to him, and I'm not."

"I don't believe you." She said flatly, "He told me he hit you, and while I think that was a shitty thing for him to do, I don't think you making him eat his parents will help any." Cartman threw his hands in the air.

"That was _one time_! Jesus Christ, you throw one little Chili Con Carnival and no one ever forgets it!" Wendy rolled her eyes and went back to her math homework.

* * *

Friday, September 27

* * *

The four of them met in the empty gym, as planned, at six. The game was scheduled to start at seven, with halftime taking place probably around eight-thirty, according to Cartman's estimations. For his part, Cartman had slicked his hair back and was wearing an old military-style jacket, and feeling on top of the world. The air drifting through the open door smelled faintly of rain and victory – the night was theirs.

"All right," Cartman said, "Men, it's time. This is the hour in which we right the wrongs that have been committed within these hallowed halls. It's time to take your places. I wish you all good luck, and Godspeed." And with a salute, he was gone, walking through the open doors, out towards the stadium, leaving Stan, Kyle, and Kenny to look at each other.

"So … are we actually going to do this?" Kyle asked the other two, half-hoping they would say 'of course not, dumbass, we're going back to Stan's place to watch Top Chef'. No such luck, however, as Kenny and Stan immediately nodded.

"Dude I hate to say this, but this plan is pretty much flawless." Stan told him, "And I think Jack could stand to be knocked down a peg. Anyway, it follows the rules." He shrugged.

"Yeah but – maybe we need a few more rules." Kyle protested halfheartedly, more out of obligation than anything else – he felt like someone had to be the voice of reason, and it was usually either him or Stan. And Stan was certainly not stepping up to the plate this time.

"Fuck rules," Stan said finally, pulling out several ski masks and handing one each to Kyle and Kenny, "Let's go."

* * *

**PHASE ONE: North Hallway, 18:06:45**

"Hey Craig!" Craig turned around, and Stan and Kyle walked over to him. He was holding his mascot gear – the suit stuffed in a backpack and the giant cow head in his hands. His face fell when he saw them.

"Oh, hey guys. You're kind of early for the game." Stan nodded.

"Yeah, we were actually looking for you." He said. Too obvious: Craig's eyebrows shot up and he tightened his grip on the cow head. Kyle cleared his throat.

"We just wanted to show you something. The decorating crew's going to show up in a couple hours to get the gym ready for the homecoming dance and we decided to prank 'em." Craig relaxed – his first mistake.

"Oh okay. I can't be gone too long, though, I gotta go warm up with the cheerleaders in half an hour." He said, following Stan and Kyle as they led him to the gym and his doom.

"Yeah, yeah, you'll be back in time to warm up with the cheerleaders." Stan said impatiently. Kyle, however, saw an opening.

"So you warm up with the cheerleaders? Like for pregame? What all do you do, exactly?" Craig puffed out his chest – he took his job as mascot very seriously, mostly because a lot of it involved hanging around with scantily-clad girls.

"Not a lot – we just kind of dance around and act all excited while the football players run in. And then during the game they do cheers and I screw around. Easiest job in the world." Kyle nodded.

"Good to know, man." They entered the gym, which was dark – they hadn't wanted to attract attention by turning on the lights – and completely devoid of any pranks, save the one they were currently operating on Craig.

"There's nothing in here." Craig said, ever slow on the uptake. Kyle closed the door and they put on the ski masks, which had cleverly been stowed away in their back pockets. Kenny, who had been perched on a stack of gym mats, also donned his, and strolled over. Realization began to dawn. "Oh son of a bitch. Whatever it is, I'll go quietly – I don't want to end up in the trunk of Kyle's mom's car with socks in my mouth like last time!" Stan clapped him on the shoulder.

"Good for you, Craig, nice to know you learned something. All we need is the mascot uniform." Craig hesitated.

"I dunno guys, this is school property."

"What if we guaranteed you we could get it back to you in a few hours, in, uh, relatively good condition?" Kyle asked. Craig thought this over.

"All right. But don't tell me anything else – I don't even want to know. So when they ask me, I can plead innocence." Stan stuck his hand out, and Craig shook it.

"Deal. Now hold still while we tie you up." Craig sighed and did so. Within minutes he was seated comfortably on a gym mat, hands and legs tied, and gagged with a handkerchief which was, it had to be said, much better than a sock. Kenny put on the mascot uniform while Kyle briefed him on the general duties of a mascot, while Stan dragged two huge bags of steer manure and a massive Gatorade barrel out of the corner of the gym. Craig's eyes widened at this.

"Okay," Stan said, "So we'll get this shit in place, and you do the rest."

"Sounds like a plan," Kenny said, pulling on the giant cow head, "Now I guess I've got a date with the cheerleading squad." He saluted them, and was gone, walking casually out of the gym.

"Godspeed, Kenny!" Kyle yelled after him, before turning his attention to the manure. "And now for the fun part…"

* * *

**PHASE ONE: South Park High Football Stadium: 18:47:24**

Cartman had left the gym to drive his car around the block for the better part of an hour, before finally parking over by the stadium, where kids were already starting to show up. His part in this plan was necessarily small – he was just going to sit in the bleachers and watch the game. He would much rather have been in on the action with Stan and Kyle, but by this time most of the school knew Jack had punched him, so he had to have an alibi.

There was a perk, however: He would have a front-row seat.

He bought a ticket and walked over to the rapidly-filling bleachers. There, third row and center – close enough that he would be able to smell success, which in this case would smell an awful lot like bull shit. He walked over and sat, not caring that he looked kind of lame sitting there by himself. He was too preoccupied by being a magnificent bastard.

"… _Cartman_?"

_Shit. _He looked over. Of course it was Wendy, it was always Wendy. Girl needed to get a hobby that involved being far, far away from Cartman at all times. He didn't bother pretending to look happy to see her.

"Yeah?" She was one row up from him, and sat down, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"What the hell are you doing here? You hate football?"

"Extra credit for my Biology class," He lied.

"You already need extra credit this early in the year?" She said incredulously. He ignored this.

"Are you here alone? No group of dumbass preppy friends to shield you from the underhumans?" He asked, looking at his watch – nearly game time, and then maybe she'd shut up. She frowned.

"They're getting drinks. I told them I'd save them seats." And with that she opened her purse and dug out a book – _A Tale of Two Cities_ this time, and started to read. Cartman, happy to stop talking to her, turned his attention back to the field where the cheerleaders and the mascot suit were gathering. As he watched, the bull reached up and tugged twice on one of its ears. Cartman grinned – that was the signal. Phase one had gone off without a hitch.

* * *

**PHASE TWO: The South Park High Football Stadium, 19:41:34**

Dragging the huge manure-filled Gatorade barrel over to the stadium was actually a lot easier than it looked.

They hadn't filled it up all the way – it had to be light enough for Kenny to lift by himself – but they were each holding an end, to give the impression that it was filled with liquid. They got up to the stadium ticket booth, and stopped, making a big show of putting it down and stretching.

"Can I help you?" asked the guy who was running the ticket booth – probably the parent of one of the football players, Stan assumed. He patted the barrel.

"Just gotta get this inside. It's homecoming and all and the guys on the team wanted to play a little joke on the coach." He said with a smile. "You know… team spirit… _teen_ spirit…" he trailed off as the man eyed him suspiciously.

"And who are you, exactly?" He asked. Stan looked at Kyle – they hadn't planned on being questioned.

"Water boys." Kyle said smoothly. "We've been here, watching the game; we just left to go grab the Gatorade. You know, in time for halftime." The men nodded.

"All right, go on in." Stan saluted him and they both picked up the barrel, grunting at its supposed weight, and shuffled inside, down the pathway around towards the bleachers. Stan could just barely make out Cartman, sitting a couple rows up in the center, right in front of Wendy and a group of girls. His heart skipped a beat, and he looked away.

"Good thinking, dude." He said, "Water boys – genius."

"I knew someone would ask." Kyle said. They headed over to the bleachers, over to the raised area where the homecoming queen and king would later be crowned, and set the barrel down directly behind it. Kenny would be able to get to it easily but there was no change any of the football players would try to drink out of it. The manure planted, they kept walking, past the pavilion, cheerleaders, and fans out to the far side of the bleachers, where they hid just behind them. They would be missing the main event, as they would have to bail out right before half time, but for now they just had to sit and wait. Kyle wiped his hands on his ski mask, looking disgusted.

"Dude, we reek – no wonder that guy was suspicious."

"That's the smell of success." Stan replied, peeking out at the scoreboard – not that long, now, and they would be starting the homecoming proceedings. Not that it would be a shock to anyone when Jack and Bebe won.

"Whatever, I just hope we'll have time to shower before the dance," Stan turned back around and sat down at the base of the bleachers. He'd almost forgotten about the dance in all the excitement. Cartman had insisted that they all go – that they had to make an appearance to show their superiority or some elitist bullshit. Stan had agreed but really all he wanted was to get a moment alone with Wendy, to try and apologize again.

* * *

**PHASE THREE: The South Park High Football Stadium, 20:23:02**

Kenny was thoroughly enjoying his part in the plan. Cheerleaders, everywhere he looked, and they didn't even care if he danced with them. They kind of liked it, actually. By the time halftime rolled around he was seriously considering stealing the job from Craig permanently.

Right now, however, there was work to be done.

He had located the barrel of manure a while ago, still standing beside the homecoming stage, where the contestants were not lined up. Kenny inched over in that direction while the Homecoming court was announced. No one was paying attention to him, however, as all eyes were on the stage, where the Homecoming King nominees had just been called on to line up at the front of the stage. He grabbed the barrel, and walked over to the front of the makeshift stage, where the stairs were.

"And, Ladies and Gentleman," the announcer began, "It's time to crown the Homecoming King. This year's king is…" He opened up the envelope in his hands and Kenny tensed slightly – if it was someone other than Jack their plans were all for nothing – " Jack Johnson!" The other boys slunk out of sight, looking somewhat relieved, and Jack stepped forward, while the announcer stepped forward to crown him.

The second the crown was securely in place and the announcer had stepped away, Kenny was ripping the top off the Gatorade barrel and dashing up the stairs. Jack had only a second of surprised confusion before the barrel was overturned and he was covered in shit.

And then Kenny was off like a shot, sprinting across the field as fast as he could, ripping off the cow head in the process. He was wearing a ski mask underneath, of course. Holding the head tightly, he ran across the parking lot, down the halls, and to the gym, where he staggered in and collapsed on Craig's mat.

"Phase three complete," He gasped, tossing the head out into the middle of the gym floor. Stan and Kyle grinned. They were both wearing their masks now also. Kenny noticed that they had brought the coat rack in from Stan's car and set it next to Craig. He shimmied out of the costume and hung it on the rack, setting the cow head on top, before stepping back to admire his handiwork.

"Beautiful," Stan announced. "How was it? Was he pissed? Was he like, covered in it?" Kenny grinned.

"Completely covered. And probably pissed but I had to bail so I didn't catch the full reaction. We can ask Cartman for a play-by-play later."

"All right," Kyle said, "And now we head back to Stan's place to clean up and get ready. Cartman will meet us there when they game's over. Good work, guys," And with a final salute, the three of them left the gym, leaving Craig sitting on the mat next to the uniform for the decorating crew to find.

* * *

Cartman spent the second half of the game in a daze of happiness and fulfilled expectations. After seeing Kenny sprint off into the night, halfheartedly chased by some of the staff, and Jack escorted off the field and to the locker room by the coach, and Bebe accept her crown, thoroughly pissed that now everyone was too busy speculating about who was behind this to care, walking into the homecoming dance completely above suspicion was just going to be icing on the cake.

Once the game was over, he stood up to go find his car and drive over to Stan's house, but his way was blocked, yet again, by Wendy.

"Jesus Christ, you need to wear a bell or something," he said.

"You had something to do with this." She accused. She had a very strange expression on her face – it wasn't the rage he expected. It was almost as though she was trying very hard to look angry and only halfway succeeding. "That was Kenny in the mascot uniform – he's the only one of you guys who's that fast."

"Try and prove it," Cartman said, trying to sidestep her and failing.

"You didn't blow up the stadium," She was saying, "Or set anyone on fire, or cause any irreparable damage. You just dumped manure all over the quarterback." He noticed that the corner of her mouth kept twitching. Was she _laughing_?

"Well _someone_ certainly did." He said nonchalantly. "Oh look, there's the asshole now." He said, nodding towards the field. Wendy turned to look and Cartman slipped around her, running off towards the parking lot before she could follow. Bitch had to be huffing paint or something – no way would Wendy Testaburger ever think dumping manure on someone's head was funny.

* * *

Stan located Wendy half an hour into the homecoming dance, and he managed to get her alone about an hour or so after that. It was amazing how Bebe and Wendy were all but attached at the hip, and all of their jock and cheerleader friends made an impenetrable shield around them, barring all lesser life forms from interacting with them.

Finally he managed to intercept her coming back from the bathroom, amazingly alone. Even so, he had to practically walk directly into her to get her attention. She was in a cute black dress that, while not conservative, certainly seemed so next to what Bebe was wearing, and her hair was held off her face with an equally unobtrusive black clip.

"Hi Wendy," He said, trying to look as nonchalant as possible after walking right up to her. She stopped walking and smiled at him, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she did so.

"Hi, Stan." She said, "Did you just get here? I haven't seen you all night." He shrugged, not wanting to tell her that he hadn't been able to claw his way through her wall of friends. To be perfectly honest, it was really Bebe's wall of friends, but Stan wasn't going to say that either. At least he hadn't thrown up yet.

"No, I've been here the whole time." He said, and hesitated. "Wendy, I, um, I know I'm the last person you'd want to hear this from, but you, well you look nice with short hair." She smiled again.

"You know, it's so much easier to take care of now. And I would never have cut it off if you hadn't set it on fire." He cocked his head.

"I thought you said you wanted to donate it?" She blushed and looked at her shoes.

"I did, but I've actually tried to donate it lots of times, but I always chickened out. I wouldn't have really done it, no matter what I said before." Stan nodded, wondering what was wrong with girls that they were so emotionally attached to their hair.

"So does this mean you forgive me, then?" He asked hopefully. She looked up.

"Of course! Did you think I'd been mad at you this entire time?" She asked him, comprehension dawning on her face.

"Well . . . yeah." He said, "You didn't talk to me as much as you did before, so I thought..." Wendy giggled, grabbing his right hand in both of hers.

"Stan, you're such an idiot! The only reason I didn't talk to you was because you weren't talking to me!" He snickered too, though he could feel the nausea beginning in his stomach, caused by her holding his hand.

"I only didn't talk to you because I thought you hated me!" He said, shaking his head, "We're both idiots." She laughed and let go of his hand.

"Well then I'm glad you finally said something." She told him. "Because I never hated you. I was only mad because you lit my hair on fire - anyone would be." The fast, nameless song that had been playing stopped, and a slower one started up. Wendy listened, and smiled. "Ooh, I like this song. Do you want -"

"Wendy! There you are!" Bebe walked over, wearing practically nothing, followed by Clyde and Jack, who frowned upon seeing Stan. He probably suspected Cartman for the whole manure business, and everyone knew they were friends. "We were wondering if you'd run into someone..." She trailed off, upon seeing that it was Stan. "Oh hi, Stan." She said dismissively, before turning back to Wendy. "Anyway, we were thinking of going back to Clyde's in a bit - his parents aren't home and they don't care if he has people over. Do you want to come along?"

"Uh..." Wendy hesitated, looking over at Stan, "I - "

"Hey, um, Wendy, how about a dance with the homecoming king?" Jack asked, sauntering closer to her, with all the confidence of a boy who knows that he isn't about to be turned down. Stan made a mental note to tell Cartman the manure hadn't quite had the desired effect – Jack still had self-esteem, and in spades. "This song's pretty sexy, don'cha think?"

"Oh, well, actually I was going to ask -" Bebe interfered, grabbing her friend's arm.

"Wendy, can I talk to you for a moment?" She asked, pulling Wendy away. They were far enough away that Stan could only hear unintelligible murmuring. He looked over at Jack and attempted a smile but only received a grunt in return.

"Wendy, are you crazy? Why the hell would you dance with Stan Marsh instead of Jack Jefferson, the homecoming king and captain of the football team?"

"Bebe, it's just a dance." Wendy pointed out, "And I was talking to Stan, so - "

"Wendy, you've liked Stan for years, and nothing has ever happened. Do you want to keep tormenting yourself when you don't have to? I think Jack really likes you, and you'd be stupid to waste your time on someone who doesn't like you back instead of someone who you could actually hook up with." Wendy hesitated for a moment, "Who _hasn't _set you on fire." Bebe added. That cinched it – Wendy was a forgiving person but the hair-burning incident was still very recent.

"You're right, Bebe. I've spent too much time thinking about Stan. I think I'll give Jack a chance."

"Good choice." The two girls walked back over to Stan and Jack, and Wendy took Jack's hand.

"I think I'll take you up on that dance." She said, grinning. "I'll see you in chemistry, Stan." And with that, Jack led her off before Stan could say anything. Not that he had anything to say. Bebe and Clyde had melted into the sea of dancers by now, and left him alone.

"God Fucking Damn it." He said, and went to go find his friends.

* * *

**A/N: **Reviews are always appreciated! :D And not gonna lie, they definitely make me more inclined to write.


	3. October

**Author's Note:** See? Less than two years! Is your faith restored? XD Anyway, thank you thank you thank you to everyone who reviewed, seriously. It's always nice to know people are actually interested in reading this :P

* * *

**ALL THE YOUNG DUDES**

OCTOBER

* * *

_Masquerading as a man with a reason_

_My charade is the event of the season_

_And if I claim to be a wise man, well_

_It surely means that I don't know_

_On a stormy sea of moving emotion_

_Tossed around I'm like a ship on the ocean_

_I set a course for winds of fortune_

_But I hear the voices say_

_Carry on my wayward son_

_There'll be peace when you are done_

_Lay your weary head to rest_

_Don't you cry no more_

_

* * *

_

Friday, October 4

* * *

"All right, Kyle what was so important that you had us meet you here? And where's Stan?" Kenny asked, looking around the abandoned school parking lot. It was four-thirty on a Friday – too late for there to be people still here after school, and too early for people to start showing up for the football game. Kyle looked around nervously.

"Look, this is the only place I can be sure he won't show up." Cartman scoffed.

"You're overestimating him, dude." This was probably true. But Kyle had rejected all of their houses, both Shakey's buildings, the library, and most other places in town as a meeting spot on the grounds that they were perfectly logical places to be on a Friday afternoon.

"Stan's birthday is coming up," Kyle told them. "Eighteen – it's important. And he said he wasn't planning on doing anything, so I think we should throw him a party." Cartman and Kenny looked skeptical.

"Maybe he doesn't want a party," Kenny suggested. "I mean if he wanted one he'd probably throw one himself." Kyle shook his head.

"This whole Wendy thing has his priorities all mixed up. Trust me, he's going to want a party, he just doesn't _know_ it yet. Anyway, we can have it in Cartman's Shakey's and invite a bunch of people. And we can just get pizza from the real Shakey's or something. The party doesn't have to be really big."

"Yeah, but how are we going to invite people without him knowing? What if he sees an invitation?" Cartman pondered. Kyle stared.

"Last week we dumped manure all over the quarterback of the football team – _and got away with it- _and you think you can't handle a little surprise party? Dude." Cartman glared, and then snapped his fingers.

"Business cards."

"What?"

"Business cards. Look, they're small, and if you see one on the floor they don't look like anything special. If we do it online there's too big of a chance someone'll fuck up and post something about it so this is the best plan."

"All right, business cards it is." Kyle said. It wasn't a particularly _good _idea, but it was better than anything he'd come up with so far.

"We can pass them out next week to everyone we want to invite. Better not make it too many people." Kenny added. "It can be on the night of his birthday. Kyle, you can tell his parents we're planning something so they don't decide they want to do something with him."

"Why me?"

"Because, dude, you're the best at talking to parents." A valid point.

"All right, so I'll handle the Marshes, Cartman, you get the business cards – don't look at me like that, you're the one with the big-ass allowance – and Kenny you figure out how to pull off this party on no budget, you'll be good at that." Kenny flipped him off casually but nodded.

"And no one so much as mention any of this to anyone that doesn't need to know. I'm not even going to tell his parents the truth because there's no way Stan's dad will be able to keep the secret." Cartman scoffed.

"Please, like this is our first time operating in secrecy. This is going to be the easiest thing we've done all year. What should I put on the business cards? Just the time and place?" Kyle shook his head.

"No. I don't want to risk Stan getting ahold of one. Uhh… hang on." He dug around in his bag until he came up with a stack of post-it notes and a pen. It didn't really have to make sense – they would be handing out the cards in person so they would be able to explain everything on them. The cards just needed to serve as reminders of the time and place. "Okay, I've got it." He scribbled a few words onto the post-it and added a fake phone number at the bottom.

"Seriously?" Kenny said, leaning over to look at the post-it. "Isn't this taking it too far?" Cartman shrugged.

"Whatever dude, I'll get the cards. Let's just hope everyone we know isn't too stupid to understand this." Kyle nodded in agreement.

"And let's hope that Stan is."

* * *

Tuesday, October 8

* * *

Sheldon H. A. Kent - Excellent Yard Services

1-800-830-1019

(Bring drinks if possible)

* * *

Kyle looked at the business card he held in his hand and then back at Cartman. They were standing in the cold parking lot before school. It was much earlier than they would ordinarily have showed up, but they had to make sure they were there well before Stan. Kyle had even gotten his mom to drive him on the pretense of having a study group meeting. Which was true… sort of.

"What the hell, dude? 'Bring drinks if possible'? Who puts that on a business card?" Cartman waved a hand dismissively.

"Look, they're not real business cards, asshole. And if Stan sees one, well, they already don't make sense, so why would he suspect anyone? And someone might be able to get us beer," he added. Kyle sighed. They didn't have time to make new ones, so these would just have to do.

"All right," he said grudgingly. He took the stack of cards, split into thirds, pocketed one, and handed the other two to Kenny and Cartman. "Okay, so we'll hand these out over the next week whenever we can."

"And remember gentlemen – subtlety is key," said Cartman, instinctively taking over pep talk duties. "Our mission is to get as many losers as possible to this party, using any means necessary, and we-" They were interrupted by Stan's car careening into the lot, skidding slightly on some ice, and sliding smoothly into a parking space that was as far from Wendy's car as physically possible. They all hid the cards and Kenny pulled out a sheet of paper detailing Butters' demise, as planned, and they pretended to be looking over it as Stan walked up, scarf wrapped over his mouth and gloved hands pressing buttons on what looked to be some archaic handheld game.

"Well the only problem I see is where you're going to get all the cats," Cartman said, jabbing a finger at the paper. Kyle nodded in agreement, both for show and because Kenny's fake prank was just completely insane.

"I mean you'll have to have them with you beforehand, and then there's the problem of collecting them afterwards… oh hey Stan." Stan raised a hand in greeting, still looking at the screen. Kyle looked over at the game.

"_Battleship_? What the hell?" Stan looked up.

"My dad made me clean the attic this weekend and I found this. Pretty cool, huh?"

"Maybe in 1998," Kenny said wryly.

"No dude, it's awesome. You just like, pick numbers and-"

"Thanks, but I think we all know how to play Battleship," Kenny interrupted. "What I meant was that it's lame." Stan ignored this, but instead violently pressed a button, sinking the computer's submarine.

* * *

Cartman took his seat in government, making a mental list of who would receive a business card. If it was his party he knew that none of these assholes would have the pleasure of going, but, as he grudgingly reminded himself, this was for Stan, so he would suck it up and invite some people. But who?

Clyde was in his biology class and while he was dumb as a sack of bricks his older brother might be willing to get them beer. Token and Tweek were both in his PE class – they weren't that annoying. And he guessed he would invite Wendy, since she was in his math class, though she was all but dating Jack the jock now. Disgusting.

After the fiasco that was the debate, Cartman and Jack were, naturally, no longer sitting together. He had showed up to class the next day to find himself being ushered by the teacher to a seat in the front left of the room, while Jack was now sitting in the back right. Cartman's new desk partner was a pale, skinny boy with obviously dyed black hair and black fingernails, which looked to be the work of a sharpie. He wore all black and had a pair of ear buds slung around his neck at all times. In layman's terms, he looked like a tool.

His name was Trevor but a few glances through his things while he was in the bathroom told Cartman that his friends called him 'Nightmare', and also that he had a strange fondness for Japanese comic books. He also spoke exclusively in murmurs and spent his free time writing what looked like song lyrics or emo bullshit poetry in his notebook.

However, Trevor – or Nightmare, whatever – had one thing going for him: he wasn't Jack the jock. Because while the manure project had been a success, Jack was still able to walk around school with his head held high. He was still cool. He wasn't beaten.

And that was just unacceptable.

* * *

Kyle found the other boys sitting at their usual table during break. Cartman looked to be doing homework for once, Stan was still playing with the battleship game, and Kenny was measuring out what years of experience told Kyle was itching powder. He slid onto the bench next to Stan.

"Dude, you're still playing that?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I mean you can only sink a battleship so many times before it gets old." Stan shook his head.

"No way. This game has _layers_."

"He's just playing that dumb thing to take his mind off of you-know-who," Kenny said wisely, making a face at the beaker and shaking some of the dark powder back into the pouch. He was wearing a pair of latex gloves he'd no doubt lifted from one of the science classes – a must when dealing with itching powder, as they had all found out the hard way freshman year.

"What, Voldemort?" Cartman asked, not looking up from his book.

"What's the itching powder for?" Kyle asked, ignoring Cartman and his lame refrences.

"Butters," was Kenny's reply. Cartman looked up this time, slamming the book shut and stuffing it in his bag.

"Dude, I thought we said no more unauthorized pranks!"

"Look, assmaster," Kenny snapped, looking up from the beaker. "Someone's gotta keep that kid in line! And you're too busy studying or some shit, so I'm the one who has to do it. I'm being careful," he added.

"Still, we were going to lie low after the homecoming debacle," Cartman told him, lowering his voice. "Remember? Too much going on and people will start wondering what's up. I know this school is run by a bunch of dumbasses but they're not that dumb."

"I'm being careful," Kenny said irritably, sealing the beaker and putting both it and the bag back inside his backpack. He peeled off the gloves and tossed them into the garbage. "Butters hasn't even complained or anything. It's like God put him on this earth specifically for our amusement!" Kyle rolled his eyes. He had never really approved of the lengths the other boys went to in order to cause Butters pain.

"You know," he said. "One of these days you're going to end up in prison. And I am going to laugh and take pictures."

* * *

"OH SWEET JESUS! OH THAT BURNS!"

Kenny sat on the ground, back against a tree, contentedly watching Butters run around in circles. The beauty of itching powder in shoes rather than shorts was that it began gradually, as the powder worked its way through your socks. He was surprised it hadn't occurred to Butters to just take off his shoes, but, well, that was Butters for you.

"Excuse me?" Kenny looked up and saw a skinny sophomore of about fifteen standing in front of him. It was no one Kenny had seen before, but the kid looked designed to blend in – average features, untidy brown hair, glasses. "You're Kenny McCormick, aren't you?" Kenny stood up, dusting himself off, surprised that he almost towered over this kid.

"Who wants to know?"

"I'm Evan Harris," he said, sticking out his hand. Kenny ignored it – what the hell kind of teenager shook hands? "I heard about what you did last month, with the t-shirt thing." He pushed his glasses up on his nose nervously.

"That wasn't me," Kenny said automatically, "I dunno who did that. Picking on poor Butters like that." 'Poor Butters' was currently rolling around in the grass for some reason, moaning in abject misery. Kenny was beginning to wish someone would just hose him down.

"I'm not going to report you or anything," Evan said. "I actually… well, I was wondering…" Kenny motioned for him to spit it out. "How do you do it?"

"How do I do what?"

"How do you – well, prank people, and get away with it? And how do you think up stuff like that?" Kenny sighed.

"Look kid, you can't teach genius."

"It's just – no one really knows who I am," Evan said. "I'm a nobody. And I figure if I'm going to be nobody I might as well raise hell while I do it." Kenny paused. He could use an associate for some of the things he had planned, and the other boys were stuck in class during the time he and Butters had P.E. But Evan didn't know anything. He was more likely to be a liability than any kind of help.

_Unless I train him._

It wouldn't be easy, but hell, it might be fun. And Kenny was always looking for new ways to entertain himself. Besides, Kenny had always thought that someday he would have to pass on his legacy to someone younger, who would carry on the tradition of being an asshole to those dumber than he was. Like Yoda, in a way. Finally he nodded.

"All right, but there are rules. Lots and lots of rules." _Quick, Kenny, come up with some rules. _"First, do nothing unless I tell you to. Nothing. Second, before you participate in any pranking whatsoever, you need to learn the ropes." Eric blinked.

"Don't you just like… draw on peoples' stuff? And tie their shoelaces together or whatever?" Damn, Kenny didn't realize anyone knew about the bleachers shoelaces incident.

"No, okay, that was a one-time thing and only because it was life or death. But there's a method. And you're going to learn it."

"Okay. So where do we start?" Kenny shook his head.

"Not here. There are eyes everywhere." There was no one around. "I'll find you when you're ready for your first lesson." There, that was ominous enough. The bell rang, and kids started filing back into the locker rooms. "May the force be with you," Kenny told him solemnly, and fled.

* * *

Kyle found Wendy towards the end of lunch, at her locker. Stan was safely back in the cafeteria, having a very long and very boring story told to him by Cartman, who, though puzzled at why Kyle wanted to deliver this particular invite, agreed that Stan needed to be distracted so he didn't see any of them talking to Wendy. In truth Kyle wanted to deliver this invitation himself because he didn't want Cartman to wreck any chance that she would actually show up, which seemed very likely to happen. And though there was something about Wendy that for some reason rubbed him the wrong way, Stan liked her, and so Kyle would do his best to make sure she was there.

"Hey Wendy," he said, standing beside her locker.

"Hi Kyle, what's up?" She grinned, looking friendly, if not a little wary. That was fair. He pulled one of their business cards out of his pocket and handed it over.

"We're throwing a surprise party for Stan," he explained. Wendy looked at the card for a minute, confused.

"Oh!" she said finally. "It's an anagram for 'Shakey's. That's really clever." Kyle grinned, feeling pleased with himself.

"And the phone number is the day and time, see? Saturday the nineteenth at eight-thirty." Wendy's face fell.

"I'm busy that night," she said, looking genuinely disappointed. "I'm hanging out with Jack." Kyle frowned.

"Could you maybe stop by anyway?" he asked. "We're trying to get as many people as we can to show up. I mean you only turn eighteen once, right?" Wendy bit her lip.

"Yeah, I mean it'll just take a second, and I'll need to drop off his present anyway." The bell rang, and the hall around them began filling with students. It was only a matter of time before Stan would be walking through here on his way to English.

"Hey," Wendy called. Kyle turned around. "You would know – what does Stan want for his birthday?"

"Uhh…" What _did_ he want? Good question. "I dunno," Kyle said. Then, wanting to give her something, at least, "Well he's been really into Battleship lately." And then he bailed, rushing to get to his locker to get his textbooks before class, leaving a confused-looking Wendy in the hallway behind him.

* * *

Saturday, October 19

* * *

"Stan. Stan, wake up. St-Stan." Stan groaned and tried to free himself from the hand that was shaking him insistently. The hand refused to budge, however, and he was forced to open his eyes, only to find his father standing next to his bed, fully dressed. "Heyyy birthday boy." Stan looked at the clock.

"Dad it's seven in the morning. What the hell."

"That's right, and I'm taking my son out for breakfast." Stan had no desire for breakfast. In fact he had no desire to do anything but roll over and go back to sleep for two or three more hours. But years of humoring his father overpowered his laziness and so he found himself dressed and in the car in a matter of minutes. It was a silent drive over to Country Kitchen Buffet (the only restaurant open this early) with Randy humming to himself and Stan half asleep in the passenger's seat.

Country Kitchen was already packed with old people, but Stan and Randy found a table near the back. For all that it was called Country Kitchen Buffet, it was not in fact a buffet, so they perused their menus while waiting for their waitress to bring them coffee.

"Dad, why didn't we bring mom with us?" Stan asked, as much for something to say as anything else.

"Because, Stanley, I wanted to talk with you. Man to man."

"Oh Jesus." Randy put down his menu.

"That's right, son. Now you're a man, and so there are certain things you need to know." Stan wondered if anyone would notice if he killed himself with the butter knife.

"You know, dad, I really don't think that's-"

"Condoms," Randy said loudly, "Are only ninety-eight percent effective."

"HOLY SHIT WHY."

"I know, it's shocking, isn't it? But it's the truth."

_This is hell. I must have died in my sleep and now I am in hell._ Stan tried to hide behind his menu while he looked for a way out. He checked his phone – no birthday texts yet. But that was understandable; anyone who wasn't being cruelly tortured by their father would still be asleep. He tried another tactic.

"Look, dad." He said weakly, "They actually covered all this in health class like three years ago so… I'm actually good, but uh, thanks – thanks for the heads-up."

"Oh," Randy said, blinking in surprise. "Well in that case – income taxes. Son, do you know what itemized deduction is?" Stan slumped low in his chair -it was going to be a long morning.

* * *

As agreed, Kenny had figured out a way to get decorations for Stan's party on no budget at all.

As usual, his plan was very, very illegal.

He and Cartman stood outside South Park's one and only party supply store, staring in through the windows. It was just after noon, and the only person working was a kid that they recognized from school. He had graduated two years ago, and wasn't the smartest crayon in the box. Or something like that.

"So how did Kyle react when you told him you were going to steal everything for the party?" Cartman asked.

"Yeah I didn't tell him that part." Cartman snorted.

"How are you going to explain where you got everything, genius?"

"I figure by now he knows my methods well enough that a 'don't ask don't tell' policy will be just fine with him." Kenny said, opening the door to the shop. "Come on, we have to get everything back to Shakey's so we can decorate."

A bell above the door jingled slightly as they casually slipped into the store. It was empty, which was just going to make this whole endeavor more complicated. And even more annoyingly, all the birthday themed stuff was towards the front of the store, in plain view of the register. Luckily, Kenny had been prepared for this eventuality, and they had a plan. While Kenny went to go look at the Halloween decorations nearest to the birthday things, Cartman went up to the front desk to distract and mislead the clerk.

"Hello," he said innocently, "I'm looking for some decorations for my grandparents' golden anniversary. Could you show me where those are?" The guy put down his comic book and stood up.

"Yeah they're just towards the back of the store, over here." As he walked Cartman over, Kenny grabbed several rolls of blue and white crepe paper and a couple bags of balloons, and stuffed them under his shirt and sweater. He looked fat, but not particularly suspicious. Next he grabbed a few 'happy birthday' banners and stuffed them down the sides of his jeans, the tops secured in his waistband. And then a few more bags of balloons for good measure.

"Hmmm this gold is a little gaudy, do you maybe have anything in platinum, or silver?" came Cartman's voice from the back.

"Uhhh, no," the shop attendant replied. "The golden anniversary… well most of the decorations are gold." Kenny looked around, and then he spotted it. It was beautiful - his great white whale, the shoplifting Holy Grail. There was a tank of helium sitting behind the counter, and Kenny was going to steal it. He coughed three times, a signal to Cartman that he needed more time.

"Well all right," Cartman said to the assistant. "So which type of paper plates will look best with this lovely confetti – plain, or the ones with the little scallops?"

"Uhhh…"

Kenny glanced behind him – he could see the tops of their heads over the walls of decorations. As quietly as possible he snuck over behind the counter, eyeing the tank. It was probably about half Kenny's size and, sweet merciful heavens it was on wheels. This was going to be a cinch. Carefully he undid the length of bungee cord that bound the tank to one of the drawer handles in the counter – this store really needed better security – and then stuffed a couple spools of ribbon in his pockets.

"Look kid, I'm not some kind of interior decorator or something, I just work here because they let me read comic books if it's not busy."

"Oh I know," Cartman improvised. "I just was wondering your opinion. You see my gran, she's … she's very sick." His voice broke and Kenny prayed that he wouldn't get too carried away with this act. He rolled the tank about a foot, and one of the wheels let out a very distinct squeak. _Damn_. Wrapping both arms around the tank he lifted it up, and crept towards the door.

"I'm sorry," the assistant said quickly. "The scallops – the scallops look better." Kenny set the tank down outside, and then quickly leaned his head back into the store and made a bird call – the signal to bail out.

"You have such an eye for decoration," Cartman told him. "But uh," Kenny heard a click as Cartman snapped his phone open. "Oh look at that, Gran's dead, looks like I won't be needing this stuff after all. Thanks for your help, have a nice day!" And Cartman fled the store, running slightly to catch up with Kenny, who was already wheeling the tank down the street.

"That went well," Kenny said mildly. Cartman looked at the tank in surprise and admiration.

"Is that a fucking _helium tank_? Well played, Kenny. Well played."

* * *

"Okay, I think that might be the last of it." Kyle jammed the staple gun into the wall and stepped back, admiring the crepe paper that draped across the walls. It wasn't perfect, and they didn't have a ladder so it wasn't really very high up on the walls, but it was up, and it looked festive, and that was all that counted.

"The balloons are done too," Kenny said, tying one more to a string and releasing it to hang out on the ceiling with the others. Kyle still had no idea where or how they'd gotten the helium tank, but the balloons somehow made his crepe paper look less cheap and crappy. Cartman was on the phone in the corner, ordering pizzas from the real Shakey's.

"… and I'll need them to be ready by eight-thirty," he was saying in the worst fake voice imaginable. "Yes my name is … Mitch Connor, gotta go, see you then." He hung up quickly.

"Okay," Kyle said. "Setup's done." He checked his watch – it was five-thirty. "In an hour or so I'll text Stan and ask him if he wants to go to Raisins at eight-thirty. I'll go meet him at his place, and you two stay here and welcome the guests. We should get here around eight forty-five." Cartman nodded.

"At which time we will make everyone shut the fuck up and we'll turn off the lights," he supplied.

"Exactly."

Everything was turning out perfectly and Stan didn't have a clue as to what he was in for. Kyle was feeling pretty pleased with himself as he plopped down in a booth and put his feet up on the table. Now to text everyone to remind them to park over by the real Shakey's, and everything would be set.

* * *

_Bzzt bzzt bzzt_

Stan looked up from his Battleship game as his phone vibrated, signaling that he'd gotten text message. This was the first one he'd gotten all day. He put down the game and picked up his phone, snapping it open.

**Hey Stan, happy birthday. Wanna celebrate at Raisins tonight with the guys?**

Stan felt irrationally pissed off. It was already almost seven and he hadn't heard from any of them, and now they wanted to go out with him? What if he'd already had plans, or was going to do something with his parents? Those assholes.

**Thanks dude. Sure, when?**

At least the Raisins girls were always friendly, and the wings were awesome. And hey, since it was his birthday he would probably get free cake or something. Stan's stomach growled and he remembered that he'd skipped lunch out of spite.

**We can leave at like 830. Can I bum a ride?**

Typical. But it only made sense – he was only a few houses over, while Cartman and Kenny were in the same general area – despite the fact that their parents were in very different income brackets.

** Yeah, just meet me here then.**

He sat up, stretching, and then went to go take a shower and change out of his pajamas.

Kyle was ringing his doorbell at eight-thirty on the dot, and Stan charged downstairs, ready to get the hell out of this house. His parents were in the sitting room watching TV and sipping wine.

"Going out?" Sharon asked, watching as he buttoned up his coat and wrapped his scarf securely around his neck.

"Yeah, with Kyle. Is that cool with you guys?"

"Well you-" Randy began, but Sharon shot him a look and he shut up. That was… weird.

"It's fine, Stanley. Have fun!" she said brightly, and went back to watching _Waste of Space _or _Your Kitchen Looks Like Shit_ or whatever dumb home improvement show they were watching. Saturdays were DIY Network day at the Marsh house and apparently his birthday was no exception.

"Okay," he said, still not sure what was going on. "Bye." He grabbed his keys off the nail by the door and slipped outside, tugging on his gloves. Kyle was leaning against his car, texting someone. "Hey dude," he said, and Kyle looked up, stuffing his phone in his pocket.

"Hey, happy birthday."

"Thanks." Kyle stood up, rubbing his hands together briskly.

"Here, I'll drive." Stan paused – Kyle had never asked to drive before. He didn't even think he knew how.

"You don't have a license."

"Yeah but I know how to drive a car. Besides, it's not like Barbrady's going to arrest me, the guy is all but comatose." He had a point – officer Barbrady was a little dim in the attic and generally spent his weekends haunting popular hangout places and harassing kids, asking them why they weren't in school. And anyway, it was his birthday, why the hell not. He tossed Kyle the keys. Kyle caught them easily and headed over to the driver's side of the car, getting in and adjusting the seat to fit his longer legs. Stan climbed into the passenger's seat and buckled himself in.

"Just don't hit anything," he warned, and Kyle snorted, started the engine, and pulled out of the driveway smoothly – and probably a lot more slowly than Stan would have.

"Please, like you're one to talk – you drive like a bat out of hell."

"But I never hit anything."

"Wendy Testaburger."

"Dude, weak!"

"Sorry. Hey d'you mind if we stop by Shakey's? I forgot your present there earlier." Ooh presents. Stan had already gotten some clothes, a few video games, and

"Yeah no problem. It had better be good though." Kyle grinned.

"Oh, it is."

* * *

Kyle was a surprisingly good driver, if incredibly slow. They got to Shakey's around eight forty-five. Surprisingly the other Shakey's looked really busy – the parking lot was packed. Kyle parked in the empty dirt lot next to Cartman's Shakey's and pulled out his phone and made a face.

"It's my mom," he explained, and quickly tapped out a message before stuffing his phone into the pocket of his forest-green coat.

"Should I just wait in the car?" Stan asked. Kyle shook his head.

"Nah, it might take me a while to find it, and it's freezing out here." Stan shrugged and followed Kyle into the dark building. Kyle flipped the light switch, and the room was illuminated.

"Surprise!" At least twenty people jumped out at him. Stan yelled and jumped before realizing that this was a surprise party – the room was filled with people from school and the air smelled like Shakey's pizza. There were streamers all over the walls, and a bunch of balloons clustered at the ceiling.

"Holy shit!" He exclaimed, looking at Kyle. "We're not really going to Raisins are we?" Kyle grinned again and passed him a beer.

"Hit the music, Kenny."

* * *

Stan was thoroughly enjoying his party.

There wasn't an excessive amount of people there – maybe thirty, all crammed towards the back of the Shakey's. But there was music playing loudly, and people talking and eating and someone had even produced beers from somewhere. Stan was making the rounds, edging around the room thanking people for showing up, a habit ingrained in him from a very young age. He glanced up, feeling a draft as the door opened, and noticed Wendy, standing nervously by the door, looking unfairly cute in her jeans, boots, and oversized sweater. She was clutching a gift bag and chewing on her lip. Stan extricated himself from the group of people he was standing with and walked across the room to her.

"Hey Wendy," _Good. Normal. Keep that up._

"Hi," She said, smiling and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. It looked so smooth. His fingers twitched. "Happy birthday! Did you like your surprise?"

"Yeah, I totally wasn't expecting anything like this." He glanced back towards Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny, all of whom were standing at the back, by the stereo they had unearthed from somewhere. By pure stroke of luck, Kenny happened to look over and catch his eye. He broke into a wide grin, gave Stan a thumbs-up, and reached over to turn the music up a couple of notches. "It's kind of loud in here," He said, thanking all the gods for Kenny, "Do you want to go outside?" She nodded, and he followed her out the door, breathing deeply, praying he wasn't about to make an idiot of himself. Again.

It was only October but already it was cold at night. The air stung Stan's face, and Wendy stuffed her hands into her pockets.

"Oh, I almost forgot – I came to bring you this," She said, handing over the bag. Stan took it and stuck his hand inside, pulling out a large glossy book called 'The History of Battleships in the U.S. Navy'. He looked at it for a moment, baffled. "Kyle told me you liked them." She said, shrugging. "I had no idea you were into stuff like that but I figured he would know best." _Son of a bitch, Kyle._ He fought down a laugh and looked up, grinning.

"It's perfect," He told her, "I definitely don't have this one. Thanks, Wendy." She smiled, looking relieved.

"Good, I was worried you would. Since when are you interested in boats?"

"It's kind of a new development." He confessed. He really was going to have to read this now. This was Wendy – she'd probably read it in line in the bookstore. She would ask him about it. But she was looking at him and smiling and her cheeks and nose had turned pink from the cold and somehow he found he didn't mind. "Are you sure you can't stay?" He asked, jerking his head towards the door. "We have pizza and music and – well that's kind of it, but it's warm in there, at least." She shook her head, looking genuinely remorseful.

"I can't – I have to go. Jack's waiting for me," She said, almost apologetically.

"Jack? Jack's here?" Stan said, looking around, as though the gorilla-shaped boy might be lurking along the side of the building.

"Next door, in the real Shakey's," she explained. "It seems like a fun party though."

"Well… I'll see you in class on Monday." She stepped forward and hugged him briefly, before turning and disappearing through the doors of the other Shakey's.

* * *

It was past midnight, and everyone else had gone. In the world of Saturday nights it was still relatively early, but everyone had other, cooler parties to attend, and the boys had happily watched them go. Finally it was just the four of them, sitting in their booth in Shakey's among the crepe paper and balloons, with four beers Kenny had snuck into the back to save for them. They were slightly warm, but they tasted of satisfaction. Kyle sipped at his and made a face – beer wasn't the best-tasting stuff in the world but he supposed as a red-blooded American male he'd have to learn to enjoy it. He was seated next to Stan, with Cartman and Kenny sitting across from them. For some reason a thick shiny book on battleships was sitting in front of Stan. Every once in a while he would run his hand over the cover, smiling to himself. Kyle decided he must be actually losing it.

"Good birthday, then?" He asked, grinning at Stan.

"Yeah man it was excellent." Another secret smile at the book, what the hell. "I can't believe you went to all the trouble to pull this off."

"Well the night isn't over yet," Cartman said, pushing a badly-wrapped box towards Stan. "Go on, open your present."

Cartman, having a huge allowance and a mother who just bought him shit for no reason, had only recently grasped the concept of the best presents not necessarily being the biggest and most expensive. Since then, however, he had always given the best presents, every year without fail. And so Kyle was surprised that when Stan opened the box, there was only a lone slip of paper inside. Stan, puzzled, picked it up.

"'A man only comes of age once'," he read. " 'And your present will happen to you when you least expect it. You're welcome.' Dude, I don't think I want this," Stan said, folding up the paper.

"Oh trust me," Cartman said, "You will." This was kind of ominous and frankly a little frightening coming from Cartman, but Kenny pushed his present forward and Stan began digging around in the bag. Kenny's presents, contrary to Cartman's, were usually stolen and usually stupid.

"It's… condoms." Stan said bleakly, pulling out handfuls. "A shit-ton of condoms."

"Lifted them from the Planned Parenthood van when it visited school one day," Kenny said. "Go on, there's more in there." Stan upended the bag, dumping the contents on the table. Condoms flew everywhere, along with bottles of lube, some porn magazines, and a pair of handcuffs. Stan laughed, and started gathering it all up and stuffing it back into the bag.

"Thanks Kenny, how thoughtful and disgusting of you."

"Laugh now but you never know when this might come in handy. Particularly the porn."

Kyle slid his present over to Stan – a box wrapped in blue paper covered in driedels – it was the only wrapping paper they'd had at home and he was rushing before he left for the party. Kyle was less present-intuitive than Cartman and less funny than Kenny but he did have the advantage of a steady allowance and being the person who knew Stan the best.

"Here you go, dude." Stan ripped the paper off the box in the most childish way possible, grabbing chunks of paper and pulling, rather than starting at the flaps on the side.

Inside the box was a Denver Broncos jersey, ordered from a specialty website Kyle had found back in September. Stan pulled it out reverently, sliding his fingers over the silky fabric, a look of wonder on his face.

"Where did you-"

"Turn it around." Stan did, and saw that above the '09' on the back was his last name, 'Marsh', printed out across the shoulders.

"Whoa," Stan said, stunned. For a second he was silent. Kyle understood. "Thanks," he said finally. He put a hand on Kyle's shoulder, and Kyle took a swig of beer. The alcohol felt pleasantly warm in his stomach and his head felt light. Kenny was already leafing through one of the porn magazines and Cartman was yawning and texting someone. Stan grinned, and Kyle smiled back.

"Happy birthday, Stan."

* * *

Thursday, October 24

* * *

Wendy sat quietly next to Cartman in math. She'd already finished all the homework for the day and was now reading – or rather pretending to read while actually texting , her phone concealed by her backpack, which she'd left on the desk. Jack kept texting her, and deciphering his texts was much more difficult than the half-dozen math problems she'd just finished.

**hay bb u lkn 4wrd 2 r d8 2mrw? ;)**

Chimps were more literate. She looked uneasily at the word 'date' (or rather, 'd8'). She herself had never used that word, and had always called it 'hanging out'. She guessed in high-school terms she and Jack were technically dating. She closed her phone with an audible 'snap', causing Cartman to look over at her.

Cartman wasn't having the easy time in this class that Wendy was. It was advanced – probably too advanced for him – but his mother had insisted that he take it. She said it would look good for college, as though Cartman would be going anywhere other than a junior college. He was still working on the assignment – only too problems in, to boot, but refused to ask her for help.

"Texting Jock?" he asked.

"That's really not any of your business," she said loftily, going back to her book.

"So that's a yes? Tell me, how does it feel to know you're committing bestiality with a yeti?" She bent her head, over her book so that her black hair fell over her face, concealing it from view.

"Shut up."

"Some anthropologists would kill for the privilege. Jane Goodall would love to be in your shoes." Her shoulders shook slightly and he thought he heard a very undignified snort.

"I said shut up." Was she seriously laughing at this? Since when did Wendy grow any kind of sense of humor? Just a few years ago she'd hit him for less than this.

"Isn't this how AIDS got started?" he asked, testing the waters again. "Someone had sex with a monkey or some shit? Don't be that guy, Wendy, who knows what he could be carrying."

"Oh God," she said, lifting her head from the book. She was grinning. "He does kind of look like a monkey. Especially when he's thinking."

"Good thing that almost never happens. How the hell are you dating him without killing yourself?" Wendy groaned and buried her face in her hands.

"I don't know. I didn't think we were dating but apparently he thinks we are." Cartman's ears perked up. This was relevant information. "He's nice, he's just so, _so_…"

"Retarded? Primordial? Hairy?" Cartman supplied, mentally taking notes. He still had to arrange Stan's birthday present and this was important field research.

"Simple," Wendy said. Cartman knew this was just a pretentious way of saying he was dumb as a rock and half as good-looking but before he could tell Wendy the bell rang, and she was quickly gathering up her things and rushing out of the classroom.

* * *

Kenny paced in front of the whiteboard, hands behind his back.

He and Evan had broken into an empty classroom at the beginning of lunch (a quick lesson in lock-picking – the locks on the doors at school were mere child's play and therefore perfect for beginners). Evan was sitting front row and center, an open notebook in the desk and a pen in his hand, which he was chewing thoughtfully – or nervously; the kid was so damn jumpy. He was going to have to get over that.

"The first thing to remember," Kenny said, "Is that planning is key. Never make something up on the fly unless you have to. Always stick to the plan."

"Really?" Evan asked, "I kind of thought you were more spontaneous." Kenny turned and stared him down, his steely blue gaze making Evan shudder.

"We are not some ragtag group of pranksters who are content to spend our lives placing whoopee cushions on chairs, kid. This is an art." Evan nodded, looking too afraid to speak. "Now," he began. "Planning. When planning an elaborate prank, each step must be outlined carefully, including prep work. This was you know exactly who is supposed to be where, and when." Evan was scribbling away in the notebook and Kenny grinned. God it felt good to be in charge for once. "It's also important to make sure you have all the materials you need." He pointed to the whiteboard, where he had carefully and lovingly outlined his next attack on Butters.

"But where would you get all those cats?" Evan asked.

"Now you begin to see the level of dedication that is required of you," Kenny said sagely. Evan pushed his glasses back on his nose, biting his lip thoughtfully.

"Though I guess if you could get the cats you could just keep them in carriers. You'd need an enclosed space, though, so they couldn't run off after. A small space, and it wouldn't be too hard to collect them again. And I mean they would have to have all their shots." Kenny nodded, though shots for the cats was not really a priority of his.

"Now you're beginning to think critically," he said. The kid showed promise. "But you're not thinking in terms of resources. What do we have at our disposal?" He was really hoping Evan would figure it out. _Please let this kid be good for something_ he thought. _I deserve a sidekick._

"I've got it!" Evan said happily, for the first time looking like he wasn't ready to bolt. "I know where we'd get the cats!"

* * *

Friday, October 31

* * *

It was almost ten o clock on Halloween, and Cartman was standing on a street corner dressed as Batman. He had left the house feeling confident and cool, much like Batman would, but after seeing no less than four Batmans on his way here, three of which were under than age of ten, he was beginning to rethink this costume choice. Cartman always went as whatever was coolest that year, but he had forgotten that Batman wasn't necessarily the most grown-up costume in the world.

And as he was planning to crash a college party tonight, maturity was key.

Finally he spotted Stan, Kyle, and Kenny walking towards him. Kenny had spiked his hair up but was otherwise dressed pretty normally, though more formal than usual. He looked like he had a dusting of glitter, or some shimmery powder over his skin. Stan was wearing a long black coat and had his hair slicked back from his face. He was wearing black trousers and a blue vest, with the top few buttons undone on his white shirt. Kyle's costume was the only one Cartman recognized – khaki shirt, dark brown pants, vest, bullwhip and that hat – he was obviously Indiana Jones. Regardless, he greeted them all the same.

"What the hell are you assholes supposed to be?"

"I'm Indiana Jones, fatass." Kyle offered cheerfully.

"I am a chick magnet." Kenny said proudly, and Cartman noticed that he was wearing fake fangs over his incisors. He still didn't get it.

"Dude you're dressed like a nerd and you're sparkling. What the fuck is attractive about that?"

"I'm Edward Cullen!" Kenny snapped. The other three just looked at him. "You know, from those books all the girls are shitting themselves over. He's like a vampire but he sparkles and he's Mormon – laugh all you want but I guarantee the ladies are going to love it."

"I'm Mr. Darcy." Stan volunteered, a touch of bitterness and self-loathing in his voice. This was at least a name Cartman was familiar with. "_Pride and Prejudice_ is Wendy's favorite book, according to her Myspace."

"That's weak." Cartman informed him, but Stan looked like he already knew that. A lot. But regardless of how gay Kenny and Stan were being, they all had business to attend to. "Gentlemen, the reason I have asked you to meet me on this particular street corner is because it's approximately a block away from a sweet college party I heard about last week."

"Heard about from whom?" Kyle asked curiously.

"Clyde." Cartman answered smoothly. The truth was that he had overheard Clyde talking to someone else about it, but the other guys didn't need to know that. "Anyway, there's going to be alcohol and college girls and it's going to be totally kickass. Are you guys down?"

"I thought we were going to one of the high school parties, dude," Stan complained, "That's the only reason I'm dressed like some 19th-century asshole!"

"Come on, do the math. If Clyde is there, Bebe will be there, and if Bebe's there, a certain know-it-all whose hair you burned off will be too," Cartman told him. Once the Wendy situation was settled, the four of them walked down the block up to a one-story house with several cars in front. The windows were open, as was the door, and light spilled out, as well as some kind of electronic dance music. Cartman double-checked the house number, and they walked inside.

There was a table set up with various types of alcohol, and a few cases of beer beside it in the entryway, and beyond that was a crowd of people dancing with drinks in their hands. Cartman grabbed four beers and passed them out just as another Batman walked up to the table, accompanied by a girl in a black cat suit, a pair of dangerous-looking heels, and a headband with furry black ears attached. The girl turned to look at them and Cartman didn't need Stan's gurgle of anguish to tell him who it was.

"Hey Wendy." She was wearing very dark eye makeup and had drawn whiskers on herself but she was still easily recognizable, particularly when she grinned at them.

"Hi guys!" She said brightly, "Let me guess, you're obviously Batman," she told Cartman. "And you're Indiana Jones. Kenny are you supposed to be someone from Twilight?" Kenny nodded grinning but far from looking entranced, Wendy just rolled her eyes and turned to Stan. "And you're… someone … going to a funeral?" she guessed.

"I'm supposed to be Mr. Darcy," he muttered, and the expression on Wendy's face changed completely.

"Oh," she said. "I love that book. That's a great costume, Stan." He ventured a grin and she smiled back and for a moment Cartman thought Stan might actually do something smart like ask her to dance or offer to get her a drink but in the next moment the other Batman moved to stand next to her, putting a possessive hand around her waist.

"Hey guys," he grunted, and Cartman nearly vomited in rage. Jack the Jock, the incredible albino gorilla-man, was wearing the exact same Batman costume he was. This was unthinkable. This was unforgivable. "Oh, you're here," he had obviously spotted Cartman. "Come on Wendy, let's go dance." Wendy gave a little wave and then disappeared into the crowd with Jack.

"Oh my Christ," was all he could manage to say.

"Dude, that's weak," Kenny said, patting him on the shoulder sympathetically. A girl dressed as a slutty nurse walked up to the drink table. "That's my cue," he said, and sauntered over. To Cartman's shock and horror the girl seemed to know what Kenny was immediately, and led him into the middle of the crowd, giggling.

There was a very good chance tonight was going to totally suck balls.

* * *

A few hours later, Cartman stood in the corner, nursing a beer and fuming. Jock was wearing the exact same costume he was, there weren't very many college kids at this so-called college party, and his beer was warm. Kenny was chatting up the only attractive girl in the room, and Kyle and Stan were off 'smoking' on the balcony, which in their cases meant holding a lit cigarette, pretending to take a drag every now and then, and coughing a lot. Clyde and Bebe careened by, both looking absolutely wasted, and Clyde's elbow hit Cartman's causing him to nearly spill his beer.

"God dammit, Cyle, watch where you're going or I'll make you eat your parents!" He shouted after them as they disappeared into the next room. He turned around just in time to see Wendy walk over, teetering a little in her massive heels. She looked, surprisingly, a little drunk, though it was much more likely that Bebe had roofied her.

"There you are!" she said, and Cartman's eyebrows shot up. "I've been looking all over for you! This's a good party, right?" She was definitely a little drunk, what the hell. She stood in front of him, one arm draped over his shoulder for balance. "I want to tell you something." She paused to take a sip from whatever was in the red plastic cup she was clutching, as if to steel herself. "It's okay with me if we're dating." What the _fuck?_ But she wasn't done. "I'm totally fine with it." She paused, and then nodded again, as though assuring herself. "Yeah, totally fine." She draped the arm holding the cup across his other shoulder, and looked up at him expectantly and Cartman realized what was going on.

She thought he was Jack.

Of all the fucking things to happen tonight, now he was getting mistaken for that asshole. They were of similar height and build, though Cartman was not as broad-shouldered or beefy, and nowhere near as blond. The batman costume hid that though, and the alcohol Wendy had obviously been consuming had done the rest.

He was just opening his mouth to call her a drunken bitch when she leaned forward and kissed him.

* * *

Kyle stood on the balcony holding his cigarette and trying not to cough. It was burning itself down, slowly but surely, and he was pretending to take a drag every now and then, and everyone but Stan – who was doing the same thing he was – was too drunk to notice. They were all college kids from the local community college. Stan and Kyle even knew some of them from high school.

"Dude, where's Johnson got to?" one of them asked.

"I dunno, we were supposed to get blazed later. Hey you know where we should go?"

"Where?"

"Taco Bell!"

"Dude that's like, poetic."

"I feel like I've seen my future," Stan muttered, and Kyle grinned. He wasn't sure yet where he was going to school but he knew it wouldn't be BYU, and he knew it wouldn't be anywhere out of state. There were a few options, but he was seriously considering junior college at this point, if only to give himself time to figure out what he wanted before he decided where to go. Applications were due in next month. Time was running out. He took another drink.

* * *

It was only a few seconds before the shock wore off and he grabbed her by the upper arms, pushing her off but making sure she wouldn't topple over completely, though he wasn't sure why he cared. Her black bob was slightly mussed, and one side of her drawn-on whiskers was smudged slightly. It was strange seeing Wendy like this, seeing her not just outside of school but outside of her beret hats and pleated skirts and minimal makeup. And it was even more jarring seeing her acting like this, like anything other than her carefully-controlled, uptight self.

Maybe she wasn't like that all the time, though. Maybe there was more to her than he had thought.

"I think I'm going to go sit down," she informed him, and teetered off in the direction of the front room. Cartman put his beer down on the table next to him and yanked off his Batman hood, running a hand through his hair in confusion.

This was Wendy, who was apparently now able to laugh at herself. Who suddenly thought he was funny. Who didn't hate him anymore, was good at math and bad at Spanish, and was reading something different every time he saw her. He didn't know how he knew all this. He didn't even know he had been paying attention.

"Oh shit."

* * *

The smokers had all cleared off the patio, leaving Stan and Kyle to their own devices. They put out their cigarettes and stood leaning over the metal fence that divided concrete and lawn, sipping their beers and listening to the sounds of the party behind them. Someone was puking noisily in the bushes, but overall it was pretty peaceful.

"Happy Halloween, Kyle," Stan said, holding his still mostly-full beer out.

"Happy Halloween." Kyle echoed, clinking his bottle against Stan's. "I thought college parties would be more exciting." Stan shrugged.

"They probably are when they're not full of high school kids." He pulled his coat closer around him. The clothes and the way he had his hair slicked back made him look older, his cheekbones more prominent without his shaggy hair getting in the way, the planes of his face sharper than Kyle remembered. Kyle shook himself slightly and put down the beer. That was enough of that. "At least I got to see Wendy in that cat suit though," he said, grinning. He cleared his throat. "So this is kind of belated, but uh, I know that the whole surprise party thing was your idea. Cartman and Kenny are both smart enough to pull it off but we both know they're kind of assholes."

"Yeah they are. They helped though." He said, wondering why Stan was bringing this up now.

"Well anyway, thanks," he said. "I was having kind of a crappy day before you texted and… just thanks." Kyle lifted his bottle again and took a sip, just for something to do with his hands.

"I'm expecting a full circus for my birthday," he informed Stan. "With elephants and dancing girls and shit." Stan leaned over and draped an arm across Kyle's shoulders, squeezing slightly.

"Thy will be done," he intoned, and straightened up. "I'm going to go see how the whole book character thing is working out for Kenny." And with that, he made his way back into the house, leaving Kyle alone on the patio, with flushed cheeks and a strange feeling in his stomach. Only it wasn't strange. He wished it was strange, but he knew exactly what this feeling was. Just like he knew exactly why he had been feeling less than charitable towards Wendy lately and why he looked forward to the drive to school in the morning.

Kyle's beer toppled over the railing to land with a soft _thud_ in the grass.

_Oh shit._

_

* * *

_

**Author's Note Again: **Hope you enjoyed it. Review, please, and you'll make me happy! _  
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